


RED, RISE, RULE

by andreil



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew is Cursed, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically Neil and Wolf Andrew becoming bffs (and bfs) and trying to escape Neil's father, Brief mention of Andrew's past, Canon-Typical Violence, Forests, M/M, Red Riding AU, Torture, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 03:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreil/pseuds/andreil
Summary: Red was the color of his hooded cape, and the looming promise of bloodshed so close behind him; white the color of the forest, winter brutal and endless among what was once lush green; brown the color of the wolf, an intent gaze, the subtle glow of golden eyes as it watched Neil.The wolf thought it was the predator. It did not expect to become Neil's prey.





	RED, RISE, RULE

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so. two years ago, i saw this [beautiful](https://requiemofkings.tumblr.com/post/160111764390/andreil-lil-red-riding-hood-au-where-neil) [artwork](https://requiemofkings.tumblr.com/post/163010007035/andreil-red-riding-hood-au-pt-2-someone-take) by @requiemofkings on tumblr and immediately asked them if i could write a fic based off of it. being the optimist i thought i was, i figured i'd have it up within weeks. instead, here we are, TWO YEARS LATER (literally wtf), and i have never been so proud to have finished something. this is my longest one-shot so far, and i didn't have a beta, so i'm sorry if you find any inconsistencies. also, my writing definitely fluctuated over the span of time i wrote this, but i tried to edit it to the best of my abilities.
> 
> tw for violence, torture, and allusions to andrew's past abuse.
> 
> hope you all enjoy!

The red cloak swept behind him, an occasional flapping in the silence. Light feet crunched against the fresh frost of snow, and he dodged the roots like they were bombs. The hood of the cloak warmed his ears, yet his cheeks and fingers were left to the cold winter air.

It had been a few days since he’d run away, but already Nathaniel had seen his father’s men from a distance. The mountaintops gave him an advantage, an eagle’s point of view, but he could not risk the recent proximity. Nathan Wesninski’s men were fast and had a certain, special blood lust. If they found you, if they saw you just once, they would get you and take you down. They were hounds, intent on the hunt.

Nathaniel would not let them get close.

So he ran by foot, hopping the thick, brown roots of billowing trees and dying bush. The forest was, thankfully, blessed by long, dark nights in the winter, and the snow hid him well. Every few days it snowed, covering his tracks not long after they were made. 

When he had gone a long, long way, at least four miles west, still high up on the wild terrain of the mountains, Nathaniel settled down. He was breathless and dirty and his nose was red, he was sure of it. The worst of it was the chill. It built inside his body, growing along his veins and attaching itself to each muscle.

That was the terrible thing about the night - even if the shadows hid him from the people who wanted him most, he absolutely could not build a fire. If someone saw the flame in the dark, they’d be on his path and in his reach within hours. 

It had been days of running at night and building fires during the day. His cross-body satchel was almost out of food, and he’d have to start stopping to hunt. 

Simply put, his time was running out, and there was nothing Nathaniel could do but run and run and run on his own two legs.

It was well past midnight when Nathaniel sat curled around the gigantic roots of a redwood. The stars sprinkled lazily between branches, and the tree rooftops were silhouettes.

Nathaniel could not feel his fingers.

His hands were tucked within the cloak along with the rest of his body, but it was not heavy enough to conceal the cold. He’d drunk a few sips of the water in his canister and ate a handful of ripe berries, one of the only fruits still available in the brisk season. 

He knew what he had to do to survive: keep moving, stay hydrated, eat enough, stay warm. But the last was proving to be harder than he’d thought. The cold was enough to make him sleepy, his limbs heavy with exhaustion, eyelids so ready to close. 

Despite his mind’s protests, the young man curled against the tree and dreamt of sunshine.

The wolf nudged his nose against the body. It was cold and still, but warm enough to be alive. 

If the human was dead, the wolf would have considered tearing apart its flesh and eating it. Animals were scarce in winter, and the hunt was slow.

But the human was alive. Its hand clutched the red coat it wore as if he were fighting to stay alive, even in sleep. Even as death was sneaking upon him.

The wolf slunk back into the quiet of the forest.

It was a miracle he woke up. The shock of warmth against his cheek startled Nathaniel awake, and he gaped up at the sky, dumbfounded, to find that the snow had stopped falling, and the sun had made its way through the clouds and onto the forest floor. Snow was melting, and while he couldn’t see grass quite yet, it seemed that Death had ignored him for another day.

Nathaniel sat up and moved as fast as he could, which was still considerably slow. His fingers were nearly frosted together and the numbness refused to go away. He made his hands work enough to yank some wood from beneath piles of snow. He moved clumsily, and it took him nearly an hour, but soon he had a small pile.

He sat when the wood pile was done and focused on his fingers. The work and wear had gotten the blood flowing again, but he stretched and bent his fingers until they felt completely usable. The wood was damp from the snow, so the fire required even more strength and focus, but when it eventually lit it was full and hearty.

It was magnificent. There was nothing Nathaniel had ever experienced that felt better than the sudden presence of heat. 

He laid beside the fire for a long time. Probably longer than was safe, but he couldn’t help himself. The winter night had been the worst this year, and he had pushed through it with no gloves, no fire, no shelter. 

When Nathaniel heard the sharp break of a branch, he thought he’d fallen asleep again and was now dreaming. Yet the warmth of the fire was too real, too amazing to be a dream.

He turned toward the sound, immediately on his boot-cladded feet. He whipped out a knife from his belt and pointed it toward the mass of trees. He was quiet as he waited. 

It was not a growl, but more of a low, guttural sound that vibrated along Nathaniel’s feet.

He took a cautious step back.

The emerging wolf was larger than any wolf he’d seen before. It stood confident on its four legs, covered in a beautiful coat of brown and white fur. Its eyes were golden and terrifying as it stared at Nathaniel. Its snarl came from a long snout, lip raised, teeth sharp in the daylight. Its paws were large, nails sharper than his own knife.

A part of Nathaniel wished he could toss the knife into the piling snow and show submission; the outstanding sportsmanship of a fight given up.

Another part of him, the louder bit, refused to show weakness toward the unknown. 

The two watched each other, animals in their own element. The wolf took another step forward. Nathaniel did not move.

When a few more tense moments passed and the wolf had not yet attacked him, the young man reached into his satchel. The wolf immediately growled.

“Be quiet,” Nathaniel said, trying to soothe it and failing miserably. He had never been a soft boy, never one of kind words. As if the wolf could understand him, he added, “I’m going to feed you.” He spoke these words as he reached into his bag and took out the first thing he could grab. It was chocolate, wrapped up in shabby paper. He showed it to the wolf. When the wolf didn’t react, Nathaniel began to peel the wrapper off. He outstretched the sweet, swallowing his fear down deep.

The wolf came closer. The man forced himself to stay still as it came close enough to sniff the food in his hand. In his other palm, the knife sat idly.

Without any warning, the wolf snapped at the chocolate treat and ate it.

For a long second, Nathaniel stared at the wolf, completely surprised. Then he laughed, genuinely glad and maybe (just partially) manic. He slid to the ground, his knees unstable.

“It worked,” he said, mostly to himself.

The wolf blew through his nostrils and sniffed the air again.

“Here.” He took another from his bag, unwrapped it, and held it out. Although it was one of his last bits of food, he didn’t favor sweets.

The wolf did not take the chocolate. Instead, it looked at Nathaniel, blank faced.

“Come on,” Nathaniel pushed, moving his hand in a beckoning gesture. “I don’t even really like chocolate. It’ll be a waste if I ate it.”

It took awhile, but eventually the wolf took the second piece of chocolate, too. 

The sudden arrival of company forced the man’s tongue, and he continued to speak, even if the animal could not understand him. “Don’t wolves travel in packs? Though I guess I should be grateful – a pack is more successful in their hunt.” He looked around the wooded area, wondering if he would find glowing eyes watching him from the tree line. There was nothing, so he added, “I’ll be dead soon, but company is never unappreciated.”

Nathaniel tilted his head and thought to himself for a long time. 

“I’m Neil,” he eventually said. The name felt light on his tongue. “You must be cold, right? Come to the fire.”

The wolf ignored him completely, instead choosing to sniff around the area as if making sure it was safe. Neil wondered if it even remembered he was there. When it seemed satisfied, the wolf came to the flames, across the pit from where Neil sat. It didn’t seem to fear the fire at all. Neil watched him with heavy interest.

“I guess you really were cold,” he murmured.

He and the wolf sat for a long time, quiet and comfortable as the sun ticked by. Less than an hour passed, but with the target on his back, Neil felt he was pushing his luck by staying in one spot for so long. Still, it was hard to leave when such a wild creature had become docile in his presence.

Eventually, he stood up. The wolf looked at him and growled a little. Neil ignored the little bit of guilt he felt and killed the fire.

“I’m sorry,” he told the animal. “I have to keep moving, and I can’t leave this lit. Forest fires spread fast.”

He didn’t know why he was explaining himself. Perhaps the winter chill had finally gotten to him. Nonetheless, Neil figured talking to an animal was the least of his worries.

When the fire was completely gone and the wood was thrown in different directions to take away signs of there being a firepit, Neil looked at the wolf. It stretched on its front legs, inwardly arching its back. Neil gave it a small, pitiful wave.

“You’re good company. I hope you find your pack.”

With that, the boy turned back to the tree line and headed west, not allowing himself to turn back in case he succumbed and gave the wolf more food. He was only a few steps in when he heard footsteps behind him.

Neil spun around, ready, only to find the wolf again, clearly following him.

“Stop it,” Neil scolded. “Go.”

The wolf snarled a little too violently. This time, Neil could see the depths of its teeth.

Neil shook his head. “You don’t understand. It’s dangerous around here right now. If he… if any human finds you in this weather, they’ll use your fur for a blanket.”

If Nathan Wesninski found him, he would find the wolf, too. And that couldn’t happen.

The wolf huffed through its nose. Neil frowned at it.

“Don’t follow me,” he said. “Please.”

With that, Neil turned on his feet and began to run.

When the sun hit the horizon, Neil was at least two more miles out west and he had reached the bottom of the mountain’s slope. Now he was just in the magnificently large forest. He knew, after living less than twenty miles east of here, that the green terrain was wide and turbulent. It would be a long time before he found deserts or towns or seas. All he really wanted was to find a hut or shed. It seemed, however, that Neil was in the heart of the forest, and he’d be subject to sleep outdoors for a few more weeks.

Fortunately, the wolf hadn’t followed him, so that was one less thing to worry about.

Unfortunately, there were stories about this forest. Stories about fairies and witches and goblins and ghosts. Magic at dusk, magic at dawn. These legends had somehow buried into Neil’s head, and the whole day his eye had tricked him again and again: a being to his left that was just a tree’s shadow, a monster to his right that was just a deer.

It was just another bit of the tension. Another layer adding itself on top.

Unable to find shelter, Neil looked for a tree with thick branches. Once he found one that also had low branches, he grabbed the lowest one and began to climb. It took all his concentration, but he found his footing until he was at least ten or fifteen feet up into the tree. It was much taller than that, but the higher he went, the colder it would get.

When he was settled on a wider branch, he laid himself carefully on his stomach. His arms laid off either side of the branch, creating balance where he laid. He had no rope: this was the best way he’d be able to sleep. Plus, he felt more at ease up here, hidden among the leaves.

Sleep was hard but it eventually found him. He slept on the brink of unconsciousness, his body never quite letting go of its rigidness. 

In his dreams, Neil was being cut open and eaten alive by his own father. In the distance, a wolf howled.

Neil jolted awake.

He blinked rapidly, confused. The trees shook with the breeze, and birds flapped away, scared. The moon shone through to the forest floor. Neil realized, belatedly, that the howl had not been from his dream. 

He sat up, his bones creaking, and sat with his legs hanging off the branch. He waited for a few minutes, listening carefully to the nightlife.

There was a loud growl just below him, too close.

A gunshot fired a mere second later.

Neil jumped off the branch down to the one below him. He climbed down as fast as he could. Once he reached the lowest branch, he swung off it and hit the floor. 

It took Neil this short amount of time to realize two things: there was a man walking around with a gun, and there was a wolf snarling at the man.

The man with the gun was right in Neil’s point of view once his feet hit the ground. He was tall and skinny with overalls and boots that ran to his calves. The silver handgun in his hand gleamed in the moonlight. He was facing away from Neil, and had not noticed the crunching noise from Neil’s landing.

The man said, “Fucking monster. That's right - you’ve got claws and fangs, but you ain’t got this, huh?” He held up the gun. “Your fur’s a luxury I can't afford to lose.”

The man’s finger was right on the trigger, ready to aim again, ready to shoot the animal dead -

Neil didn’t think. He ran the few steps and tackled the man to the ground. The gun went sprawling and the man screamed in shock and anger. The two wrestled but Neil had the advantage of surprise. Neil was also clearly a better fighter than the man; it was the man's reliance on man-made weapons that made him weak.

Using all the strength in his right arm, Neil beat his fist into the man’s head until the man fell, lifeless. Blood soaked his own hand, and his knuckles burned. He moved to grab the gun that had slide away. He grabbed it, pointed it at the man, and shot him in the head.

The dead man’s face was motionless before him.

Neil shoved the gun into his satchel, but it felt like his hands were moving without him noticing. He stood up. His body shuddered.

It wasn’t that he had felt bad for the animal. No, it was more than that. It was the fact that this man was in the forest at night, in the same forest where Nathan Wesninski was hunting his son. It was the fact that the man had a gun and he was so close to Neil and he was here, now, hurting a wolf, about to kill Neil, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t imagine it, could already feel the man dragging him back to his father -

The wolf made a short, frustrated, whining sound. Neil turned to it and recognized it immediately. It was the same brown fur from before, the same gold eyes, the same glare as it stared up at Neil.

Neil reached into his satchel and pulled out a handkerchief and the last piece of granola he had. He held it up to the wolf to show that he didn’t mean any harm. The wolf initially growled at him, the gums of the wolf showing, but eventually it simmered down and let Neil come closer. Neil held the granola out for the wolf, who took it from his hand right away. While the wolf chewed on it, Neil looked around for the wound. Thankfully, the bullet had only grazed the wolf’s front leg, but there seemed to be a lot of blood.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Neil told it. He slowly moved his hand to wrap the handkerchief around the wound and tied it into a knot to secure it in place. Once it was secure, he took out his compact water bottle and poured some water into the cap. He held it out, and the wolf lapped it up.

It seemed content, and Neil allowed himself a small smile, though it fell quickly as he remembered the dead man a few feet away.

He didn’t know if the wolf could walk or not, but he stood up anyway. He started west, walking backwards slowly, and made soft cooing sounds so the wolf would follow.

“I know it’s hard to walk, but we’ve gotta move. Come on. Yeah, there you go.”

Neil continued to urge the wolf in his direction. It limped along with little complaint. Neil guessed it wanted more food, which worked to his advantage since they needed to get out of the area. Those two gunshots would be enough to draw people near. Neil didn’t want to be there when someone found the dead body.

It was a slow hike. Even though the wolf was dragging behind him, Neil made sure not to leave him, nor did he get frustrated. He could never admit it for fear of idiocy, but he felt it was fate, or something of the sort, that made him find the same creature twice. The wolf limped on its leg with ease and did not make any more noises of complaint.

When they came upon a river, Neil filled up his canteen and the wolf drank from the stream. Despite how shallow it was, Neil stared down at the wolf and made a decision. 

“Okay… hold on,” he told it. Then, gently, he reached down and attempted to pick up the animal.

It growled under its breath and wiggled out of Neil’s reach. Neil put his hands on his hips and scolded it.

“You’re wounded, the water is freezing, and there’s a chance of infection.” He reached for the wolf again but it snipped at him. Neil huffed out an irritated breath, matching the wolf’s stare with an annoyed one of his own.. 

He paused, thought for a moment, then patted his satchel. “I’ll give you some fresh winter berries if you let me carry you.”

The wolf leaned forward and put his nose into Neil’s side. It sniffed the contents of his bag and tried to open the bag with its teeth.

Neil swatted the wolf away. “No. Not until we’re across the river.”

And miraculously, as if the wolf truly understood his words, it sat down patiently. Neil grinned and decided not to question the current boundaries of interspecies language. He rolled up his pants sleeves, took off his boots and socks, put them in his bad, and finally bent to pick up the wolf.

It was heavy, and it seemed to give his dead weight to Neil, as if teasing him. Neil grunted as he pushed the wolf up toward his shoulder, just like he might carry a large dog. It was definitely a bit bigger than a regular wolf. With willpower alone, Neil managed to hold it up. He crossed the river with patience, toeing each spot before he stepped. It was freezing. By the time they got to the other side, Neil’s toes were mostly numb.

The wolf hopped down. Neil leaned down to massage his feet.

“I think,” he said, “We can stop here for today.”

As if teasing him further, the wolf gave a short puff through its nostrils. It went a few more yards west, out of sight from the river, and found a tree large in width. It curled itself up near the stump and exhaled loudly. Neil let his feet dry before putting on his shoes and following. He sat beside the wolf at the base of the tree and leaned his head against the hard bark. He was shivering, trying hard to stop himself. 

The two were silent for a long time. Neil wondered if the wolf had fallen asleep or not. It crossed his mind, quickly and violently, that he didn’t know how animals were affected by wounds.

The human’s palm found its way to the wolf’s ear. 

Unsurprisingly, the wolf gave a low growl. Surprisingly, it did not move.

Neil scratched its ear and said, low and quiet, “Don’t die in your sleep.” His hands came back into his own lap, and he closed his eyes.

The sun rose just as it set: quiet and hidden by the long line of trees. The air was chilly and smelt of fresh dew. The snow still sat layered in some places, melted in others.

Neil woke with a strange feeling. There was an immediate sense that something was off, but with the daylight in his eyes and exhaustion in his bones, it was hard to investigate. With a small bout of rapid blinking, Neil tried to sit up. His free hand rubbed at his eyes, while his other hand was stuck beneath something cold and smooth.

There was a brief memory of a wolf, large and wounded, yet Neil’s hand did not connect with anything remotely furry.

Bright eyes turned to the wolf beside him and found, instead, a human man.

Startled, Neil moved aside and lifted a steady fist. The man was awake, though, and caught the arm flying toward him. The grip on Neil’s wrist was too tight to shake off. 

Neil yanked as hard as he could to pull away. “Let go!” he shouted, fully panicked now. The man let go, and Neil flew backwards. He scrambled to stand up, feeling vulnerable on the ground.

The stranger looked at him and said, “Calm down.” There was an astounding lack of emotion in his voice, lazed and bored.

“Who are you?” Neil demanded. He was panting, out of breath from the initial fight.

“Andrew.”

Neil squinted at him. “No, I mean - Why… Why were you asleep beside me?”

“You were a bit adamant about me following you,” Andrew said.

“Excuse me?”

Andrew sighed like this whole conversation was a hassle. He reached to lift the sleeve of his shirt. Beneath the cloth was a handkerchief knotted tight around his forearm. It was Neil’s handkerchief, the one he’d put on the wolf’s wound. 

Neil said, “I don’t understand.”

“I got shot yesterday. You helped.”

“You… what?”

Andrew was silent, letting Neil trip over his words.

“You’re… a wolf?”

“Yes,” Andrew said. This time, his voice held the smallest bit of agitation. “And human. Surprise will get you nowhere if you plan to survive in this forest. Unless you know nothing about the myths here, in which case you’d be a moron.”

Neil did know about the myths, but he still felt stupid. The forest had all sorts of stories that came with it. Witches and wizards that tricked young travelers, evil fairies and nice trolls, trees that spoke, wolves that sang. Neil had not bothered believing in all the tall tales. He had only one concern, survival, and that meant focusing on the essentials. Food, water, the weather. Staying far, far away from his father. None of his concerns had been about the mysteries of the forest.

Neil’s knees felt a little weak. He gently sat down on the floor and crossed his legs. Andrew watched him in silence. 

They sat quietly for a bit. Neil couldn’t find his words, and Andrew had no words to say. The air was chilly but Neil felt strangely hot.

Finally, Neil asked, “Is your arm okay?”

Andrew lifted the arm in question and looked at it blankly. “I heal fast.”

Neil nodded, but he could barely grasp the situation. “That’s good,” he mumbled.

The wolf-man didn’t say anything.

Neil continued, “So are you a… werewolf? Wolf-boy? Shapeshifter?”

“Any of those work fine,” Andrew replied. He spoke off-handedly, like he didn’t care and never thought much about it.

“Why did you follow me? You could have easily went off on your own.” Not that Neil had found the company displeasing - he was just confused as to why Andrew, a wild, magical, unpredictable creature, would stay with him.

Andrew lifted one hand and counted off his fingers. “You have food, you have clothes, you have water, you have knives, and you have opposable thumbs. You didn’t try to kill me for fur, which was pure stupidity on your part. Why wouldn’t I try to use you and your resources?”

Neil couldn’t help it - he gaped at Andrew. Really, he had been stupid. The only time he thought he was showing an animal kindness, when instead the animal had been using him. Neil had lost chocolate over this. Granola, even. He huffed out, bitter and annoyed, though it was no one’s fault but his own.

“Well, then. I’ve learned my lesson. No more food for stray dogs.”

It was clear that Andrew wouldn’t fall prey to Neil’s attempted insults. “No more food, maybe, but I found some warm clothes.” Andrew indicated toward his own body.

Neil only just noticed that the black pants and black long-sleeved shirt on Andrew’s frame were his own clothes, stolen from his bag. Neil tucked his red cloak closer to himself, suddenly irritable. 

“Give back the clothes,” he said, jaw tight.

Andrew stood up and stared straight at the other. “No. I don’t like to be cold in my human form - it’s been awhile since I’ve stretched out my limbs.”

“Give them back or I’ll get them back myself.”

Andrew did not hesitate. “If you touch me, I will kill you.”

The two watched each other carefully. Neil only had three pairs of pants and three tops, not including his red cloak. These resources were not interchangeable. Neil had kept only as much as could fit inside his bag, and he refused to give up his belongings now; not when he had survived the last week from his father. He knew, though, that he could not attempt to fight. Even if he did win against Andrew, he wouldn’t come out of it unscratched. He needed to be in good condition for travel.

“I refuse to lose resources, so I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Andrew shrugged, apathetic.

Finally, Neil said, “Then I guess we’re traveling partners. Lead the way.”

The half-wolf half-man was apparently indestructible. They walked northwest for five hours, only stopping for the occasional sip of water. It was not hot outside, not at all, but still Neil could feel a trail of sweat run down his back.

For the most part, they were silent. Occasionally, however, Neil couldn’t help but speak up out of mere curiosity.

“Were you born a wolf?” Neil asked as his boots crunched against the snowy ground. Andrew, he noticed, was barefoot.

“No. It was an accidental happening.”

“A… happening,” Neil said, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“And you’re fine with this life of yours? Skulking about the forest, half starved and freezing?”

Andrew had no emotion in his voice when he said, “I don’t like to dwell.”

And it was that easy. Neil, on the other hand, dwelled on every small detail. He was constantly watching the sun set and rise, listening for noises that could be human footsteps, worrying about his future, pitying himself for his past. He lived inside his own mind and yet here was Andrew, a shapeshifter who simply lived as he was and accepted it.

“Don’t you have a house to stay in when you’re human?” Neil asked. “It must be uncomfortable sleeping outside all the time. Especially in the winter.”

“You’re talkative.” The statement came out flat.

Neil sighed, ready to give a retort, but he stayed silent in defiance.

“How about this,” Andrew started. “Who are you running from, Neil?”

He’d expected the question, yet the bluntness of it took him off guard. Neil quickly calmed himself and said, “Not running... hiking.”

“You’re a shit liar.”

“Either way, it’s none of your business,” Neil snapped back. He mentally scolded himself for his inability to withhold annoyance.

“Exactly. And my business is none of your concern, either.”

“I wish you’d give me back my clothes and save us the misery of this conversation,” Neil said.

“Wishes are for children.” Andrew paused. “Or, at least, those foolish enough to believe in them.”

“Your compliments are well-received.”

Andrew ignored the annoyed strain in Neil’s voice. The day carried on.

When the sun was at its highest, the temperature was almost warm. The blue of the sky was subtle, close to cloudless. However, once the sun began its descent, the whisk of cold air came back harsher than before. Neil could tell that it would get back to indecently low temperatures within the next few days.

Once it became mid-afternoon, Neil decided it was time to stop. He knew better than to grab the other, who was so adamant about keeping a distance, so he called out instead.

“Andrew.”

Andrew seemed to startle out of his thoughts. When he turned to look at Neil, his expression was completely blank. “What?”

“We should start a fire and eat something… before it gets too cold.”

“And… what? You’re offering to share?”

Neil shrugged. “I’m just making a suggestion with the little options I have.”

Andrew finally stopped walking. He looked Neil up and down, as if fully accessing him. “Build your fire, then. I’ll be back.”

Before Neil could protest, Andrew turned and ran deeper into the forest. He heard the fast stomp of feet in the leaves, a weird shuffling, and then, distantly, a low growl. Neil stood there, shocked as he realized Andrew had just run off without him. Even stranger, Andrew had run off as a wolf.

Annoyed, Neil called out, “Don’t ruin my clothes!” Though he doubted Andrew heard him.

It only took a few minutes for Neil to gather small twigs and wood for a makeshift fire. It took awhile, but soon the sparks built into flames as he pushed and prodded two sticks together. Neil watched it carefully, making sure it stayed small and controlled. He sat there anxiously. Part of him wanted to go and hunt a rabbit or small bird, knowing he needed that protein, but the other half of him knew he couldn’t leave a fire on its own. For now, he sat with his palms to the flame, getting as warm as he could without burning himself.

Time passed slowly as Neil waited. His foot tapped against his leg while he wondered how long he should wait, how bad it would be if Andrew really did take off with Neil’s clothes, how fast Neil could hunt and come back to his fire.

It was half an hour (that felt like forever) when Andrew came back. He was in his human form, looking slightly wild. Neil’s clothes looked fine, so he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“At least you’re not a thief,” he said. It was hard to shield the obvious relief in his voice.

Andrew opened his hands and showed Neil what appeared to be three medium-sized eggs. Neil wrinkled his nose.

“Do I want to know what kind of eggs they are?” Neil asked.

Andrew shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Withhold the information for my benefit.” He took the eggs from Andrew and settled them around the fire, hoping to cook them past rawness. “I guess eggs are better than live creatures, if you think about it.”

“Live animals taste much better, but the eggs were nearby.”

Neil wanted to pretend he was disgusted, but a part of him was interested. “What’s your favorite animal?” A pause. “To eat,” he clarified.

“Deer.”

“Do you like anything besides meat?”

“I guess,” Andrew said. “When it’s winter, I’ll eat anything. But it’s not as fulfilling.” He purposefully looked at Neil’s satchel. “Chocolate is good.”

“Don’t look at me - I gave my last bit of chocolate to you.”

“Useless.”

Neil replied, “Useless, he says, as he wears my clothes and uses my fire.”

“I could eat these eggs raw if I wanted to.”

Neil stared Andrew down. “Then do it.”

Andrew didn’t move. “I don’t want to, so I won’t.”

“Are all wolves children?”

“You’re just as short as me, so I’d watch it.”

Neil shot back, “I’ve got a good five inches on you.”

“Three.”

They ate their eggs in silence.

When they agreed it was time to move on and Neil was stomping out the fire, he turned to Andrew and said, “Thanks for not taking off with my clothes.”

“Your style is not worthy of theft.”

Neil just shrugged. “Still.”

The two got ready for another excursion. The sun was on its way to setting. The winter brought slightly shorter days, and Neil had long since been feeling the effects of the longer nights. He refused to let the winter kill him, though. Not only in rebellion against his own father, but now in a stubborn attempt to keep Andrew from stealing his shit.

The western terrain was much less rocky than the east had been. Mountaintops could be seen in the distance, but as they moved on and on, the only visible environment was the onslaught of tall trees. Every now and then there’d be a clearing or a trail of cut down trees and stumps, but for the most part it was just a mass of bark and leaves.

The sun had already slipped away, leaving red and orange and then navy blue behind. Neil was walking slightly behind Andrew, sure to watch him.

It’s not that he had any reason to believe Andrew would just run away - if he’d wanted to, he would have done so before. It simply made Neil relieved to see the other in front of him rather than behind.

It was also how Neil noticed Andrew’s arm was bleeding. The moonlight had hit their bodies just right through the tangle of branches, and Neil could see the thick, dripping liquid as it hit the snowy ground.

He didn’t think much as he did it. Really, it was just instinct and, oddly, concern -

Just as he began to say, “Andrew, you’re bleeding,” Neil lifted the sleeve of the shirt to get a better look at Andrew’s previous wound.

Andrew, likely startled, slapped Neil’s hand away from his skin. A strong, rough hand found its way to Neil’s throat, and Andrew quickly shoved him against a tree, hissing through his teeth.

Neil, alarmed, tried to explain - “Sorry, your wound,” but Andrew didn’t let him speak and the words died out.

Andrew squeezed and squeezed until Neil saw stars and then, with no warning, Andrew pulled back. He turned away, began to spring up, and in one swift motion, too quick for Neil’s eyes to follow, he turned into a wolf. Neil’s clothes ripped as if they’d been paper.

The wolf disappeared into the night.

Later that night, when Neil had caught his breath and found shelter on a low branch, he thought about the uneven scars he’d felt on Andrew’s arm.

He went to sleep cold.

The days got worse. Neil could barely find food, and the food he had left was dwindling. He fought, sure - stretched his limbs and didn’t let himself stop - but the cold still enveloped him.

The moon at night had never made him feel this lonely before.

Sleep began to come easier - not because he was less scared, or less tense, but because it felt like something closer to death, a complete disconnect from life.

He was too cold to dream of anything but fires and howling.

A few days later, or maybe one day later, or maybe hours later (really, it was getting too hard to tell), Neil realized he felt dizzy. Not just cold-dizzy, or headache-dizzy, but actually, truly, about-to-faint dizzy.

His face was hot but he was still somehow cold. He tried to eat some winter berries, the last of which he’d saved, but minutes later he was retching them up into the waning snow.

When he could no longer walk, Neil kept going. When he could no longer breathe with ease, Neil kept going. 

The fear was bonedeep. 

Eventually, he was on the wet, cold floor, staring at the white of winter. The sky was cloudy today, the trees slick with frost. Everything was so cold. Neil thought he should build a fire, but he also thought he could not feel his legs. It was all numb, all confusing. 

What he thought about was how he’d made mistakes. He thought about how he could have avoided them. He should have saved his mother. He should have taken the hit for her. He should have killed his father anytime he was close enough to a knife, or a gun, or anything at all. He should not have fed the wolf. He should not have saved the wolf. He should not have touched the wolf. He should have prepared more, more, more, he should have -

The dark took him.

The night had him. He flew across the universe, a shooting star, dead but still glowing. 

There was fur against his cheek, and the ground was very shaky.

“Would you care if he died?” This was a woman. Her voice was friendly, calm. Caring.

“No.” This was a man. His voice was deep, without emotion.

“Then why bring him here? Why have me save him?”

“I’d hate to be cursed a second time,” Andrew said.

When Neil woke up, he wasn’t cold. It was an absolute miracle.

There was a furnace against the wall, flames swaying and flickering within the small, square house. Or shed. Whatever it was, it was warm and toasty. 

He was thirsty, but more than that, he was alive. Neil didn’t ask where he was. He didn’t question, didn’t think, didn’t panic. All he did was touch his arms and run his fingers across the red cloak his mother had given him, soon after letting his palms smooth over the blankets he laid on.

Andrew was there, leaning against a small wooden table. He looked at Neil.

Neil smelt the smoke as it passed up through the chimney. He also smelt something delicious, and on the table behind Andrew was a plate of meat.

He wanted to eat. He was starving. He wanted it more than anything.

Yet - the passing of time sat heavy on his shoulders.

“Where are we?” Neil asked.

“Middle of the forest,” Andrew told him.

Neil got up immediately. He stumbled and grabbed the wooden wall beside him. “I have to go.”

Andrew said, “No.”

Neil looked up at him. “No?”

“No,” Andrew repeated. “I did not drag you miles east, half dead, just so you could fuck off and go die somewhere else. Eat first. Bee made it specially for you.”

“Wait, east? No, no, I can't. You don’t understand,” Neil said. “He’ll find me. I’m lagging behind, he’s -”

“Eat,” Andrew said.

It sounded non-negotiable. It took him a few uneasy seconds, but Neil steadied his breathing. With all his strength, he got his balance and went to sit at the table. He started to eat, though it took awhile. It hurt to swallow and the fork was too heavy in his weak hands.

“How’s your wound?” Neil asked.

“Healed.”

“That’s good.”

Neil ate some more, and then some more, and then more. At some point, he remembered Andrew was still there. He looked up to find Andrew watching, though it was neither with interest nor curiosity. Andrew rose an eyebrow at him. Neil shrugged and kept eating.

Then he paused. “Did you want some?”

It was a long moment before Andrew answered. “No. I already had some.”

“Okay,” Neil said. He took another bite. “Who’s Bee?”

“Betsy. She’s an Enchantress. This is her house.”

The house was small, just a little shed in the middle of the forest, yet somehow beautiful. Neil had noticed the shelves of jars and vials when he’d woken. There were books on the rug near the bed. The table he ate at was lit with thick and thin candles of varying colors. There’d been something about it before, something magical, but Neil hadn’t asked. Now he understood a bit better.

“Is she the one who cursed you?” Neil asked.

The air turned cold and Neil shivered. He looked up to find Andrew, still as a statue, the curve of his eyebrows showing surprise. It was the most emotion Neil had ever seen come from him. Then, his features shifted into something cruel, something murderous.

“Who told you that?” Andrew asked, voice like knives.

“I heard you,” Neil said. He wasn’t at all bothered by the sudden shift in tension. He ate more of his chicken. “When I was unconscious. You mentioned a curse. I’d assume that an enchantress is the only one who can do such a thing.”

It took Andrew awhile to answer. “No,” he said. “She wasn’t the one who cursed me.”

Neil said, “Okay,” and that was that.

When Neil finished the meal, he went to the small sink in the small kitchen and washed the plate. He’d been in the wild for so long, but somehow his manners were stitched into him. There had been times when just the smallest slip caused such intense bodily harm - he had been raised with a knife to his throat, and these things stayed with him, even if he didn’t want them to.

Neil cleared his throat and turned around. “I’m sorry,” he told Andrew. “For grabbing you so suddenly.”

Andrew nodded. He said, “Bee expects you to stay one more night. She’s off gathering supplies for you. I’d suggest you stay, unless you’re keen on getting hypothermia.”

Neil nodded, too, because he knew. He knew he had to use these resources, soak in the warmth, eat this delicious food before he died in the forest once more. His hands curled into his red cloak. Every second wasted felt like a footstep, closer, closer. 

Nathan Wesninski’s hands tightened around Neil’s neck. Squeezed. Squeezed until he was lifeless.

Neil said, “He’s so close -” but he choked on the words, breathless.

Andrew said, “Stop.” 

The world shifted just a bit. Neil looked up at the other, blinking rapidly.

The small hut was peacefully silent. The air smelt fresh. The fire crackled in the silence. 

Andrew indicated toward the bed. “Sit down.” 

Neil didn’t argue. He realized now how dizzy he felt. The blankets looked terribly comfortable, and more than that, they looked warm. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked into his lap, trying to center himself. Andrew pulled up a chair from the table and sat it in front of the bed, facing Neil.

Neil was trying to decide what to say, how to explain himself or make up some excuse, when Andrew spoke.

“I’m heading west. To visit my brother.”

That wasn’t what Neil had been expecting. He looked at Andrew. “Okay…”

“The winter is the hardest time of year for predators. The best animals are impossible to catch without a pack, and the small animals I can catch are either hidden by snow or dying in the harsh climate. I mainly travel as a wolf, and when I’m a human I have no weapons.”

Andrew barely changed his expression as he spoke. Neil began to catch on, though just slightly.

“You need someone to help you hunt,” Neil said.

“Yes.”

“So…?”

Andrew said, “An exchange. Travel with me, and in return I’ll kill him.”

“Who?” Neil asked, confused.

“The man who’s chasing you.”

It was funny, almost. The eased way Andrew said it, confidence radiating through every part of his body - his muscles, his legs, his eyes. Everything about Andrew was sure of himself. It was nothing egotistical nor narcissistic. Instead, Andrew simply knew his abilities. He knew what he could handle and what he could not, and he used the knowledge wisely.

And yeah, it wasn’t really funny, especially considering the circumstances, but Neil laughed. He couldn’t help it. His laugh was ugly and choked and he desperately held down the vile that rose with it.

“You can’t kill him. He’s… he’ll -”

“Is this person human?”

“Yes, but -”

“Then he’s not invincible, Neil.”

And it was so, so true. Really, why couldn’t Andrew kill him? It was possible. The wolf was large with claws and fangs and skill. 

It was time to stop living doused in fear.

“Yeah,” Neil said. “Let’s do it.”

So the deal was this: Neil would help Andrew survive the trip west. If they ran into someone chasing Neil on the way, Andrew would take care of it. Two separate kinds of protection, both equally important. Once they reached their destination, the two would be on their own again, destined to find their own means.

They’d leave the next morning. For the time being, they ate pre-prepared meals made by the Enchantress and roamed the vicinity. Neil found nothing of interest, and after getting chilly, he went right back inside. Andrew did a perimeter sweep every few hours. Apparently, Betsy Dobson was quite a popular enchantress, and a powerful one at that. Creatures of every kind often tried to ramsack her hut. When she wasn’t here, Andrew watched the place for her.

Neil took a hot bath once the sun set down. The bathroom steamed up and Neil was in pure bliss. He washed his body two, three, four times until he was satisfied. It had been too long since his last actual wash, and the difference was immediate. His clothes had been washed and were hanging by the fireplace, drying. He changed into pants and a sweater that belonged to the enchantress. Neil felt lighter and healthier as soon as he was finished.

Even Andrew sniffed the air and commented when Neil stepped out, dry and clothed.

“Finally,” he said, though he left it at that.

Time passed quietly. It was late at night when finally, well-fed and at ease, Neil decided he had to sleep. Andrew had a book at the table, something thick from Betsy’s shelf. 

“Andrew,” Neil said, trying to get his attention. “Did you want the bed?”

Andrew flickered his gaze to Neil, then to the bed behind them. It was small, made for one person, and definitely not meant to be shared. 

“No,” he said. “Go ahead.”

Neil nodded and got into bed. His bag sat beside the bookshelf, and his shoes were beside the door. His red cloak was hanging beside his drying clothes. Neil looked at his belongings and counted them over (one, two, three), preparing himself for a quick escape. He eyed the door once more before settling down against the pillow.

The only light was the dim candle on the table. Neil watched it flicker in the small hut, the shadows like monsters against the walls. Andrew looked darker and mystical as the flame danced in front of him.

Neil said, “I think I was lucky to have met you when I did.”

The half-wolf, half-man turned to look at him. It looked like his eyes were not his own, golden but riddled with something wild, feral.

Neil said, “If you want to shift and lay in the bed, feel free to. Goodnight.” He turned over to face the wall.

Later, when the night was placid and silent, Neil rolled over. He opened his eyes to find a golden wolf asleep on the floor beside the bed, settled against two pillows. Neil smiled tiredly and went back to sleep.

It was close enough.

The morning began with the front door of the hut shutting. It was soft and cautious, yet Neil still jolted awake. Furniture fell into place around him as he slowly remembered where he was and then, with instant distrust, he turned to glare at the intruder.

It wasn’t, as he expected, an intruder of any sort. With grace like no other, the stranger set a basket of miscellaneous items atop the table. Andrew was awake in human form, fully clothed and looking bored. He sat at the table, reading from a different book than the night before.

Betsy Dobson glanced over at Neil as if she felt his gaze. “Hello. I hope you slept well.”

Neil frowned at her.

She continued, “It’s been a long time since I had a guest besides Andrew. I’m sure Andrew was a pleasant host, right?

“He was fine,” Neil replied.

“Ah. I can taste your animosity. I assure you, I mean you no harm.” The woman took a few items out of her basket and set them on the table. She spoke to Andrew as she pointed at each object. “Paperbark maple syrup for healing, firethorn to stop bleeding, winterberry for energy. They’ve got a bit of magic in them, so don’t use them excessively.”

Andrew listened and nodded. When she pushed the collected items toward him, he picked them up and put them into Neil’s bag. Neil let him, thankful but still uncomfortable in Betsy’s presence. 

She turned to Neil. “You can shower and change into your own clothes if you’d like. Andrew,” she said, looking at him. “I’d like to speak with you before you leave.” She left gracefully, just a wisp of wind through the wooden door.

Andrew stood up. He looked dressed and ready to go in a pair of black pants, a long-sleeved grey shirt, and an overlapping black coat.

He said, “Stop fearing the unknown,” then left to follow the enchantress.

Neil sighed and got in the shower.

Twenty minutes later, he was dressed. He hoisted his bag over his shoulder and checked his belongings before going outside to meet Andrew. The hut had been a warm place, a change of pace he’d needed desperately, but with Betsy home, Neil felt a strong urge to leave.

Andrew was leaning against a tree. He had a cigarette in his hand, and the smoke lifted above him slowly.

Neil raised his eyebrow. “How’d you get your hands on a cigarette?”

“Bee knows I used to smoke.”

“Guess being a wolf has its downsides, huh? No easy access to certain cravings.”

“Guess so. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

Betsy wasn’t anywhere in sight, so the two of them set off. Despite being back in the cold of mid-winter, Neil was happy to find himself comfortable as they began their hike. The morning sun was soft through the trees, and Neil truly felt healthier than he had two days before. The showers left him fresh, the food made him strong, the sleep had him well-rested.

“You were right,” Neil said once they’d been walking for a mere ten minutes.

“I usually am,” Andrew replied. 

He didn't ask Neil to elaborate.

The first day went fine. Andrew didn’t talk much, but he kept the conversations going, which Neil was thankful for. With Neil’s bag now full of more food from Betsy’s home, they shared a small snack here and there. Even when Andrew felt okay, he didn’t complain when Neil asked for a break. The day passed uneventfully.

They set up for the night on the edge of a wide clearing. The clearing had no water source, but the edge of trees was so dark and shadowy that it was impossible to see them from a distance. The forest continued in the distance, but the clearing was more than an acre, covered by dead grass and weeds.

Neil set his bag against the thick trunk of a tree and began building a small campfire. Andrew, who had been a wolf for the later half of the day, waltzed into the openness of the clearing.

After the spark of sticks became an eventual fire, Neil stood up to find that Andrew had gone toward the middle of the clearing, where there was nothing hiding him. Suddenly scared, Neil walked toward him, his footsteps a bit faster than normal.

“Andrew!” he called.

The beauty of the sky hit him just then. Any following words died in his throat.

It was the darkest navy blue, so close to black yet still distinguishable. Thousands, or millions, or billions of stars danced in their spots above him, like they were excited to see him. Neil felt engulfed, devoured by the night sky, so overwhelmed by the sight. It was a blanket that crowded and covered him. His exhale came out shaky and thin.

The wolf bounded up beside Neil and put his snout into Neil’s palm. Suddenly grounded, Neil scratched the top of Andrew’s head, using it to tie him to earth, to remind him that the universe wasn’t gobbling him up.

“It’s amazing,” Neil said, because that’s all he could say. He’d never been so out in the open, so free from lights and civilization.

Suddenly speechless, Neil went ahead and sat on the floor, legs criss crossed. Andrew sat beside him. The moon lay half-carved above the jagged curve of mountains. It was a soft glow across the sparkling stars. 

Much later, they made their way back to the small fire and roasted two rodents they’d killed earlier. They fell asleep against the tree closest to the clearing, their tired eyes roaming the open divinity above them.

Everytime Neil woke up, he felt the warmth of fur against his cheeks.

They woke at dawn. The rising sun in the east set the sky ablaze, and the sudden brightness of day pushed the two awake. 

Neil, well-rested yet comfortable, groaned and shifted, refusing to fully wake up. There was a huff of breath somewhere above his head. His hand moved through a blanket, furry and so, so soft. Neil blinked, suddenly confused, and then moved to sit up. As he did, so did the wolf.

“Oh,” he said, and pushed himself away from Andrew’s wolf form.

They both seemed to realize at the same time that they’d slept against each other, Neil’s back against Andrew’s side. As soon as recognition waved through Andrew’s eyes, the wolf shifted, bare in the morning daylight.

“Woah,” Neil choked out, turning around. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

There was the sound of clothes shuffling as Andrew cut him off. “Leave it.”

Neil didn’t reply as Andrew got dressed. Finally, Andrew told him he was dressed and they got ready to leave. Neil was sly as he sneaked glances at Andrew - his blonde hair was messy but his eyes were brilliantly gold in the streaks of light. For some reason, Neil couldn’t stop looking at him.

“Stop staring at me,” Andrew said. 

Neil jolted and looked away. And then, against his better judgement, he grinned.

Maybe because of their unusual morning, today felt different. Andrew mostly stayed in his human form despite how he clearly preferred traveling as a wolf. The two spoke more than usual. It was mindless conversation at first, simple banter and small confessions. Eventually, though, the large questions came.

As they passed through a narrow path of trees, Neil asked, “So. The curse…”

“So, the curse.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.”

Andrew shrugged. “I don’t care, but I’d hate to give you an answer for free.”

That wasn’t what Neil was expecting. He looked at Andrew and raised his brows. “Is there something you wanted to ask me, then?”

“A few somethings. Questions I don’t think you’d like.”

Neil considered this. “Fine. A question for a question, then.”

Andrew ultimately agreed, but it took him a few long seconds to answer. “I wasn’t born a wolf, I was cursed. There was a man who found me quite unpleasant. To be fair, I found him just as terrible. But he was a wizard, and I wasn’t. So here I am.”

“Huh,” Neil huffed. Then, “Is he still alive?”

Andrew’s gaze lazily turned to Neil. “A question for a question, Neil. I think it’s time you tell me who you’re running from. The man I’m going to kill.”

Neil sighed, but he wasn’t bothered. He’d expected this would be the first question. “My father.”

Andrew just looked at him, expecting him to continue.

Neil looked ahead as he walked. “My father is… an evil man. He’s famous for dismembering bodies, and more so for his cruelty. I was meant to be his successor, but I guess I was too soft. His way of hardening my conscious was knives on my skin. After all these years, it didn’t work. When he killed my mother, I ran. His men have caught me a few times, but I managed to escape. If he found me himself, I’d die. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” Andrew echoed.

For some reason, Neil felt okay talking about it so openly. Perhaps it was the exchange of information; the fact that neither boy had lived a happy life. Comfort in mirroring distress.

“Your turn,” Andrew said. 

Neil took a second to think as they trekked through dreary land. “The man who cursed you… why did he dislike you?”

There was no hint of malice, no melancholy nor vengeful anger in the other’s expression. Andrew only walked, not a bit of pause in his composure. He spoke with bored ease.

“He did not like that I fought back when he pinned me down. The night he cursed me, I was in too much pain to bare. I found a rock and smashed his head. He used his last breath to curse me. I was a child.” Now, he was looking at Neil, staring at him, through him. “After he cursed me, my body felt like it was burning, but that didn’t stop me from crushing his skull in until he was just a puddle of flesh on the ground.” There was the smallest hint of joy in Andrew’s voice. Barely noticeable. “His mother will live out the rest of her life thinking he ran away, a terrible son, while his body rots away and is eaten by maggots.”

For awhile, they didn’t say anything. They had given painful truths, and it was exhausting to reveal one's true self.

Eventually, Neil said, “Hey. Can I touch your hand?”

“Sure,” Andrew said. “Why?”

Neil reached out and grabbed Andrew’s hand. He grinned.

They walked on.

It was naive of him, he knew, but Neil’s sense of danger waned and wilted with each passing day.

There hadn’t been a way to foresee how Andrew’s presence affected him, but it soon became clear. The tension was water, constantly dripping off Neil’s shoulders. Each stolen glance at gold eyes or brown fur quickly eased any distress he might have been feeling.

It hadn’t been his goal to rely on Andrew so much - that’s just how it’d become. A reliance based on the physicality of company, something Neil had not had in a long, long time.

Every time Neil rolled over in his thoughts, every flinch in his sleep or any fearful look behind his shoulders, Andrew demanded he stop. Any vocalization of, “ _Andrew, what if -_ ” was cut off.

On the third day of their trek, Andrew told him they were a quarter of the way there. 

Neil didn’t expect to feel disappointment, but he did.

On the sixth day, snow fell in gentle heaps. The afternoon sun was hidden as they spoke, only grey clouds bundled above them.

“What does it feel like to be a wolf?” Neil asked. He tried not to shiver as his breath came out in curls of visible air.

“What do you mean?”

“Having fangs and ears and fur and being an animal. What does it feel like?”

Andrew shrugged. “Like being an animal would feel like.”

“Andrew.”

“Neil.”

“Come on.”

“Be more specific, then.”

Neil tried to think about something specific. “Okay. How far can you hear?”

“Pretty far.”

“How sharp are your fangs?”

“Sharp enough.”

“You’re just being an ass on purpose.”

Andrew didn’t say anything about that. Neil decided it was because he knew it was true. After a long minute passed, he thought of another question.

“Do you hate being touched as a wolf, too?”

“Wasn’t this supposed to be a question for a question?”

“You haven’t really answered any of my other questions.”

“Because they were stupid. _How sharp are your fangs?_ Neil. They’re _fangs_. They’re sharp.”

“Okay, then answer just this one for me.”

Andrew didn’t seem too bothered by Neil’s curiosity, and answered blankly. “It doesn’t matter if I’m a human or a wolf,” he said, and his answer was clear - in both forms, he did not like it.

Neil nodded his head. This was good to know. He’d make sure to watch himself, even if it was just a petting of the wolf’s fur.

“But if I say or show that it’s okay, then it’s okay,” Andrew added, voice quiet.

And Neil smiled at that, just shortly, because he had asked and been granted permission just days before. 

“Your turn,” he said.

On the eighth day, Neil was tired but not worn, physically exhausted but optimistic. The hike was intense while the company was rejuvenating. Having Andrew with him kept all ill-moods far out of reach.

He felt good.

Andrew was mid-sentence when they came out of the tree line into a descending bank, a large, seemingly endless lake frozen before them. Whatever he'd been saying was lost to the sharp, cold whistling wind. In the distance behind the long lake was a mountain, short and covered in trees.

The two started out at the distant body of ice. Just minutes before, Neil had pointed ahead and mentioned they might be coming across a clearing. Andrew had hummed, agreeing or unsure, but hadn't said anything more.

Something unfamiliar flashed across Andrew's features, akin to frustration. It flattened out and returned to its blank state before Neil could comment.

"I thought we were farther south," Andrew said. His voice came out flat. "I knew the lake was here. My brother’s house is just over the mountain. I was distracted."

Neil knew, in his own way, why Andrew might have been upset. Neil was so accustomed to escape routes, always mentally mapping the land. If he wanted, he could backtrack this entire trip. Presumably, Andrew could do the same. He was leading them to their destination, and he'd claimed to have a good enough idea of where they were going. And he knew the lake, it wasn't as if he was absolutely unaware of its existence. It was like he said… he'd been distracted. Neil hoped he wasn't the cause.

"It's fine," Neil started. "We can follow the lake's edge until sundown, then rest and have an early start tomorrow."

"It'll take us an extra day to go around it."

"So? We're not in any rush."

Andrew's gaze flicked to Neil, hard. "Yes, we are. You can't be so distracted, too, that you'd forget what you're running from."

"Impending doom is a lot less demanding of my attention if you're beside me."

"This is dangerous," Andrew ground out.

"Which part?"

Andrew didn't reply, and Neil didn't push. Instead, he pushed back the hood of his cloak and looked at the other curiously. This was the wild. Neil had messed up countless times, tripping, hurting, starving, getting confused behind the mass of trees. Mistakes were bound to be made. So what if they were more north than they'd thought? They were only off by a few miles, surely, and now they knew their actual whereabouts.

"Let's go," Neil said, walking south around the lake.

Andrew followed, but not before Neil heard the stretch and tear of a shifting body. Neil turned to find the clothes Andrew had been wearing on the ground, thrown without care. As he bent to pick them up and shove them into his bag, Neil sighed.

Sundown was only an hour away, but they walked fast and got far. Well, Andrew trotted along quickly, and Neil used his energy to follow as well as he knew how. 

The bank was desolate, no grass or leaves. The dirt was black and the bankside was a steep, short hill attached to the lake’s edge. They didn't trudge down into the bank, choosing to walk above on the forest's even ground.

As a massive beast of fur and teeth, Andrew was a silent shadow. Intimidating, maybe, if you’d never met him before, but to Neil it felt like nothing more than safety.

The loss of conversation was only a little unfortunate. Neil knew Andrew needed the time to regroup, and Neil spoke enough for the both of them. He told Andrew about his mother, how she’d gifted him the red cloak, how its warmth was equivalent to his mother’s as far as he remembered. She hadn’t hugged him, but she’d embraced him often. She dreamt a lot, Neil knew, because she’d wake him up panicked, having just woken from a nightmare, and she’d shake him until she knew he was alive. It’d been scary, each time, but her impulsive desire to know he was safe had also felt nice at the time. Those were the only times she’d let Neil see how much she really cared. 

The sun was on the horizon for less than half an hour, and in the last few minutes of its descent, Neil stopped and leaned up against a bundle of fat, tall trees. Each night, the second he stopped, the burdensome chill and the wobble of his knees made him wish he had room for a sleeping bag, or anything that might allow him an actual night of sleep. The only thing that helped in the past few days was Andrew’s wolf form, the fur and body heat of another radiating enough warmth to keep his fingers and toes attached to his body.

Andrew looked at him, snout long and dark.

Carefully, Neil sat on the dried leaves and leaned his back up against the tree. The small grunt that came from Andrew indiciated he wasn’t yet ready to sit, so Neil waved him off. “I’ll be here.”

Andrew wasn’t gone for long, but by the time he came back, the sun had set and the only remaining color above them was a heavy navy blue. A small, furry body was trapped in Andrew’s mouth. He dropped it on the ground in offering, the little thing broken and bloody. 

“I’m supposed to be helping you hunt, remember?” Neil asked, but he didn’t complain more than that. He was well enough with a knife, and while hares were harder to catch, it only took him an hour or so to catch them. Still, having Andrew catch it so quickly, whether by luck or pure determination, had Neil’s mouth watering. He shouldn’t have been so excited to eat it, but he was almost rushing as he took supplies out from his bag and started on a fire.

He tossed the bag to the side when he was done and said, “Here,” incase Andrew wanted to change.

He did, though only once Neil was focused on the fire, having gathered tinder and kindling. It started as a weak spark, the flames nearly dying on the thin twigs. Without realizing it, Andrew appeared at his side as a human, clothed and calm, a few large pieces of heavier fuel wood in his arms. He added them to the pit, and the fire enlarged slowly.

The hare cooked and the smell made Neil’s stomach growl. They portioned it and dug in with their fingers. Andrew chewed on a bone a little longer than necessary, but Neil didn’t comment.

Halfway through the meal, Neil kicked his legs out in front of him to stretch. “I should’ve grabbed flint and steel before I left. I regret that nearly everyday. When I left, I thought I was well prepared. That nothing could stop me. But if my father doesn’t kill me, this winter just might.”

“Dramatic.”

“I don’t think I’m the only dramatic one today.”

Andrew barely blinked as he said, “Bee had flint and steel.”

Neil gaped at him. “What? She did?”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“It looked like you’d rather I chewed off your arm than stay in her presence another moment.”

Neil had nothing to say to that, so he finished eating his portion. He tried getting every piece of meat off, but when he looked at Andrew’s half, the bones were eaten bare, no meat or blood lingering behind. They shared water from Neil’s flask and took some of the winterberry Bee had left them for energy.

If he’d been alone, Neil would’ve cut the fire out before closing his eyes. But he had Andrew beside him, a force Neil had come to think of as immovable, and the flame was toasty, another layer of comfort in this lonely, maddening forest.

As Neil’s eyes closed, the yellowish light danced.

Neil woke up as a result of two separate things: One was the whistling of an arrow as it soared by and the eventual _thunk_ as it snagged a tree, and the other was Andrew jolting awake beside him, not a wolf. The fire had dwindled but was still alive before them. The vast lake was sparkling beneath the moonlight.

Another arrow sailed past, so close Neil laid flat to the earth, heart beating heavier than a drum, sure the arrow had hit him.

Above them on the tree behind their backs was the first arrow, the arrowhead lodged into the tree bark. Andrew made a face and reached above them, yanking it out. He sniffed the arrow’s spine, then the tip of it, and growled.

“There’s poison on the arrowhead. Don’t let them graze you.”

Just as he said it, though, another went past them and onto the frozen lake, this time from another direction. Neil ground his teeth together and tried to glance behind them, but the darkness of the forest contradicted the lit-up open space of the lake. Giant trees blocked his view, and by the direction the arrow’s were coming in, he couldn’t risk moving to look.

“Can you tell how many there are?” Neil asked, willing his thoughts to cool down and his panic to quiet.

Andrew sniffed the air. His eyes hardened. “Seven, maybe eight.”

That was a great deal more than Neil had thought. He opened his mouth to ask another question, needing as much information as possible, but another arrow from the south came at them, so much more spread out from the others that Neil finally felt his heart in his throat.

“They’re all around us, aren’t they?”

Andrew nodded, his back trembling like he wanted to shift. 

Neil reached out, stopping just before Andrew’s arm, and used his calmest voice to talk to him. “Don’t. Don’t shift yet.” He glanced out at his bag, right in arm's length, and he reached for it, dragging it closer and pulling the strap over his head. “Can you swim?”

“What?”

“Can you swim?” Neil repeated.

“Yes, Neil, I can swim, and no, we’re not going across.”

“We’re going across,” Neil said.

Another arrow went by. The snap of a bow seemed too close. 

Andrew looked at the lake for a long moment, then back to Neil. “It’s too far. There’s nowhere to hide, and if they corner us from all angles with arrows, we’re dead.”

“I don’t think they’re on the other side. They’ve never been ahead of me, not once, and it would’ve taken them too long to go around the lake, just like us.”

“I can end it here, right now.”

“With eight weapons pointed at you, from all different angles?” Neil shook his head. “I believe you can overpower them, Andrew, I do, but what if one hits you? Just a little, by chance? We’re not risking your life. _I’m_ not risking it.”

“I made you a promise.”

“And you’re going to see it out to the end. If you die now, the promise is moot. We’re going.”

Neil didn’t give Andrew time to argue. He crawled along the forest floor until he could slide down the dirt-filled bank. Dead weeds were sprouting from the sides. The ice touched the bank and Neil stepped on it, tentatively at first, then quicker when he realized Andrew was right behind him.

The two of them ran as soon as they noticed the lake could hold their weight. The ice felt thick beneath their feet, and the danger behind them gave them whatever extra push they needed. Arrows started coming fast, all from behind them, and the shouts of men carried over the ice. Neil’s hood flapped chaotically behind him, drowning out the sounds of the men until he saw, only yards behind them, the men running down the bank and onto the frozen water.

Neil cursed under his breath and ran faster. The lake was massive but not impossible to cross. Fog hung thin and low near their feet and for a few minutes, just their pants heard between them, it felt as if there was no beginning and no end, just a wide circle of ice around them. Even the arrows stopped coming - the men behind them were running so fast, they didn’t have time to aim and shoot.

What felt like hours but was likely less than ten minutes passed, and Neil could see the other side in the distance, trees sprouting from the ground as if they were waiting to be worshipped. Relief was a sharp exhale of breath, and their feet grew desperate as they finally could envision their destination.

Dreams of making it to the other side split, though, when a man behind them shouted. The shout wasn’t of anger or frustration, but a cry of surprise and then of help. Behind them, something cracked and broke, the sound splintering around them. 

Neil couldn’t help it. He looked back, watching as one man, then another and another, fell into the splitting ice. Their anguish was both terrifying and satisfying, but Neil was unable to soak in either feeling. His legs carried him faster, running with his peripheral vision on Andrew, needing to know he was still following.

The worry was pointless. Feet only able to take him a few more feet away, the men had been too close, their falls too grand, and the ice too weak to hold their weight. The ice was a roar as it neared him, and quicker than Neil could shout a warning, the ice was crumbling beneath his feet and letting the lake take him away.

Before anything else, the water was an electric shock on his skin. All Neil felt was static. The shock made him gasp and he choked on a throat-full of water, panic rushing through his veins and covering his skin. 

The freezing water had him fighting and kicking until he forcefully found the surface again, gasping in great, heaving breaths. While the ice had torn apart, a lot of it still remained together in large, jagged pieces. Neil grabbed onto one and recoiled from the cold touch. To the west, in the direction they’d been running, the rest of the ice to shore was still connected and in tact. Neil knew he had to climb back atop it, but a more demanding thought took over.

“Andrew?” he asked. When there was no answer, he raised his voice to call out over the lake. “Andrew?”

There was no sign of him above the surface, so Neil immediately ducked back under. The water was dark, no clear way to see what was happening, but the moon reflecting through the ice let Neil see the faintest of movements to his right. Under the water, there was a thump against something solid. 

Neil came up to breathe and dove right back down. There was the flash of an arm as it shot out, hitting the hard ice above them. Andrew was stuck beneath ice that was still solid and he was trying to escape. Neil swam as quickly as he could, but even then it was a tough process as water swirled and tugged him relentlessly. With adrenaline on his side, Neil couldn’t feel whatever shaking chills must’ve been racking his body.

It was hard to see. Neil found Andrew by the arm and noticed too late that Andrew was no longer fighting against the ice. He’d gone limp. Even being shorter than Neil, Andrew was weighed down by muscle and mass. Neil held tight to his bicep, determined, and dragged Andrew along.

Except, Neil couldn’t see where the ice was broken, and fear flared loud and staggering in his chest. Neil wrapped an arm around Andrew’s chest and heaved him, trying to kick himself faster.

Whether by luck or an owed miracle, Neil found space to emerge. He broke the surface with wild inhales, sucking in air with wild desperation. He couldn’t stop, though. He willed himself to calm the hyper beat of his heart and dragged Andrew’s body to the ice’s edge. It didn’t crack, holding their weight as Neil took several too-long minutes maneuvering their bodies up.

Once his body hit the ice, he was rushing to get up. He took hold of Andrew’s shoulders and dragged him as far and fast as he could. Land was in view, close enough if he ran, but Andrew’s unconscious body was a frantic thought in his mind. The moment he thought they were far enough away from the ice’s break, Neil fell to his knees, stared at his own shaking hands, and did what he guessed was the correct way to complete rescue breathing, accompanied a second later by chest compressions.

Neil had never been taught how to do either, he’d only seen them done in front of him before. Back when his mother was still alive, he remembered his father taking her by the hair and shoving her under a warm bath. Neil had hid behind the door frame, peeking in, scared yet knowing his intervention would only make it all worse. His father had gotten too excited and he put her head under for too long. Impatient with her unconscious body, he’d called someone in, and they rescued her with only harsh breathes and pumping arms.

Unable to understand how she’s survived, he’d asked his mother. She explained it to him, and although he’d never gotten to actually practice, he retained the knowledge to this day.

On the fourth set of chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth, Neil was sure he was doing something wrong. He couldn’t stop, though. There was no one else but Neil, and he’d never quit until Andrew woke up. Guilt and need warped together and motivated the pumps, putting strength behind each compression. He had to pause to inhale oxygen, feeling out of breath and dizzy.

It was the sixth set when Andrew coughed, harsh in his throat, water spilling unceremoniously from his mouth and over his lips. Relief was so powerful in Neil’s bones, he nearly passed out right there beside Andrew, content with going to sleep there on the ice.

He got up, anyway, and put his hands back on Andrew’s shoulders, taking them to the lake’s west edge as Andrew choked up the water that had been lodged in his lungs.

The grass was a blessing beneath his feet. Neil crumbled. With both of their bodies on land, Neil’s cheek on the cold dirt, he could finally feel the true strength of the frozen water. The shivering began to rack his body, energy draining.

Andrew was trying to talk with a scratchy voice, lagging between words. “You can’t do that.” He sounded far away, tongue covered in water. Neil closed his eyes. “You’re not supposed to fucking do that.”

Neil didn’t know why Andrew was angry. He didn’t have time to ask, so he just rasped out, “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Andrew said, but Neil slipped under.

Neil woke past dawn, the sun already peaking. It was hidden behind pale, gray clouds, the winter day dim and dull. 

He’d been stripped of his wet clothes, all of it hanging from a nearby branch. Even his cloak was there, not moving an inch, no hint of wind. New, dry clothes from his bag were properly on his body.

There was a small fire lit in front of him. More hot than that, though, was the large, furry wolf wrapped tight behind him.

He sat up, holding in a groan as he stretched out his tightly wound body. His fingers had been warmed, somehow, but he needed to bend them to make sure they truly weren’t frozen by now. That he didn’t feel like pure ice was an amazing feat.

Sure now that he was alive, Neil turned around to find the wolf awake, watching him without moving. Neil reached out to touch his snout, but Andrew growled softly. Not quite surprised but still curious, Neil tilted his head at him. When Neil refused to move, Andrew took the lead instead and stood up, taking a few paces away and shifting.

Neil looked away. Seconds later, Andrew was in front of him again, clothed. The hard set of his eyebrows and his glaring eyes told Neil he was angry, but Neil had no reasonable idea why he would be. He flickered through his memory as quickly as he could, and remembered the way he’d pressed against Andrew’s chest and put his lips to his, without permission, but to save his life. Worry knotted in Neil’s stomach.

“I’ll never touch you again,” Neil promised, the words sounding loud and weird in the silence between them. “I swear.”

Andrew’s hands turned to fists at his sides. “Shut up.”

“Andrew, I would never touch you like that, without your permission, unless it was to save your life.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I- what?”

“I’m not,” Andrew started, but he stopped as his jaw worked, teeth clenched. “That’s not why you’re an idiot.”

“Then what? I don’t understand.”

“That’s the second time you’ve nearly frozen to death. A few more minutes in that water and you would’ve been dead.”

“What… so? You were drowning, Andrew.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That’s…” Neil stood up, exasperated. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You weren’t conscious!”

“You can’t risk your own life saving other people.”

“I can. I can if it’s you.”

Andrew’s glare could burn a hole through his chest. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I wouldn’t have left until I found you.”

Andrew was done replying. Neil had never seen this much emotion on his face, and he didn’t know what to do with all the anger. Still, he couldn’t stop his words. Andrew’s complete disregard for his own life was something Neil wouldn’t stand.

Neil continued, "Your life isn't disposal. If you want to act like it is, don't do in front of me, because I'll disagree every time."

The anger on Andrew’s face faded, replaced by apathy. His heavy stare was unreadable. Neil didn’t believe that mask in the slightest, but he let Andrew stew, knowing his anger was bound to explode.

Once Andrew's features settled, he said, "You're a risk."

"You don't need to reiterate what we both already know."

"Let's go. If we hurry, we can be there in two days."

"At least crossing the lake saved us some lost time."

Andrew didn't honor that with a response. He started on ahead, leaving Neil to watch him walk away. Neil only gave himself a moment to stare before he collected himself, grabbed his bag, and followed behind.

Rather than Andrew’s sour mood or their close run-in with death, Neil was disappointed in how short their remaining time was. Days had passed, but he’d been expecting more. Whether Andrew enjoyed his company or not, Neil was reluctant to let it go so easily.

An hour of silence passed. As Neil felt their destination nearing, anxiety welled up inside him, and he knew he couldn’t live out these last two days without any exchange of words. 

“Andrew,” Neil began. He’d remained human, which was a good sign, so Neil figured Andrew might be open to talking. He didn’t get a response, though it didn’t deter him. “Tell me about your brother.”

Elongated time passed with no answer, and Neil almost gave up. Just as he thought Andrew really wouldn’t reply, Andrew opened his mouth to ask, “What do you want to know?”

Neil took that as an invitation to ask as many questions as he wanted, not considering it as part of their traded honesty. Neil didn’t need to know this information - he simply wanted to hear Andrew talk, the sound of it rough and ringing at once. 

Turns out, Andrew’s brother was actually his twin. The two hadn’t known each other until after Andrew had been cursed years ago. They’d been separated at birth by a bitch of a mother and introduced in their teens by chance. His twin, Aaron, had asked their mother to take him back in, and the pressure wore her down until she agreed. He’d discovered her abuse, and coincidentally, or not, she’d died not long after Andrew had moved it.

“Did you kill her?” Neil asked.

“The official story is she was mauled by a wild wolf.”

Neil considered that. “Does Aaron know you’re a wolf?”

“He found out after the fact. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know at first, or that officials announced her demise was at the hands of an animal. He knew I’d done it, just didn’t know how.”

“So you showed him how?”

“I’d warned him not to concern himself with it, but he kept pushing. He caught me one day when I’d hiked an hour out just to shift. He fainted.”

“He shouldn’t have been so surprised,” Neil said. “The forest has its magical myths.”

“You were just as surprised when I told you.”

“I didn’t faint,” Neil argued.

“A miracle, I’m sure.”

“What does that mean?”

Andrew turned to consider him, his gaze judging. “Either you’re obsessed with danger, or it’s obsessed with you.”

“I- You know what accident means, right?”

“An accident is not choosing to go back when it endangers your own life. An accident is not choosing to attack a man with a gun.”

“Fine,” Neil said. “If you’re mad at me for risking my life, then I’m mad at you for acting like your life isn’t important.”

“You sound like a child throwing a tantrum.”

“For fuck’s sake, we’re talking in circles. Look, I-” Neil was saying, but Andrew had turned away and kept walking. Neil quickened his feet to catch up. When he was close enough, he reached out and took hold of Andrew’s hand, slipping his fingers through and holding tight. Andrew froze but didn’t toss aside Neil’s hand, which Neil took as a positive sign. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try to play it smart the rest of the trip.”

“Try is not a promise.”

“It’s all I’ve got, Andrew. Come on.”

Again, all Andrew did was regard him with that heavy, unrelenting stare. Forever passed before Andrew slipped his hand out of Neil’s grasp and held it by his own side. He seemed back to his apathetic, cool-headed self as he said, “I’ll have to take it, then.”

The rest of their day was spent civilly. Andrew let Neil talk his ear off, and they kept up their exchange of questions. Andrew’s bad mood had simmered down, and whatever leftover resentment was either forgotten or buried deep. They’d realized before crossing the river the day prior that they were heading toward a mountain, and though the canopy was now a heavy wall of green above them, they saw the mountain come clear into view. Their walk turned into a hike and soon they were going up and around the mountain’s south edge. Andrew told him that the reason he’d meant to take them further south was to avoid both the lake and the mountain, but now that they were here, they might as well hike the rest of the way.

They kept walking well past sunset, going hours after the sky had darkened. Though his body was sore from the previous day, Neil was determined not to let that control him. He knew they needed to separate themselves further, and so they trudged through the forest until they reached a rare, rocky part of the mountain’s slope. It was a cliff, barely protruding from the mountain.

From up here, the world was open, easy to see enemies in the distance while still maintaining stealth. The moon was a thin sliver, darkening the sky and brightening the specks of stars behind it. Neil could see for miles - all of the shadowed outlines of trees and mountains in the distance, even the southend of the frozen lake.

Curious, Neil went to the edge and looked down, seeing a short wall of rock and then the continuation of tall trees, their branches raking the cliffside. Andrew stayed away from the edge, looking disinterested in anything and everything. He sat a few feet away and leaned back on his hands, looking bored.

Neil refused to make a fire, still put-off by their close call the day before, so he fed them both berries from his pack. Since they’d already eaten some around noon, and the small bag of them was nearing its demise, they only ate a few each. Neil’s lips tasted sweet by the time he finished, and he rinsed it away with water before passing the flask to Andrew.

Wind brushed the trees behind them, a heavy noise. Neil let it pass before speaking, eyes on the distance.

“What will you do when you see your brother?”

“I’m just visiting.”

“For how long?”

Andrew slanted a look his way. “Does it matter?”

Neil shrugged. “You have family here. I don’t see why you shouldn’t stay with him. Isn’t it tiring, running around the forest, doing nothing?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Andrew’s voice was flat, not accusing, but the truth of his words hit their target. “All you’ll do is run, until you’re out of this forest, off the continent and across the sea. You’ll never stop. Isn’t that tiring?”

“I can’t do anything about it. If I don’t keep going, he’ll catch up.”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Neil shook his head. “Until your brother’s house. After that, there's nothing you can do."

Silence stretched on. Neil was reflective, going over his plan. He didn't want to separate from Andrew, but the time was fast approaching and the option undeniable. Andrew had guessed correctly. He'd go as far west as the forest would take him. He knew, on the outside of the mountains and looming trees, there was a vast sea. There were a few towns on the edges there. More eye witnesses to see him and give his hunters clues to where he'd gone. Neil wouldn't be able to stay long. He'd have to stow away on a merchant ship, one that had no connections to this land, just in case.

Andrew broke through his thoughts. "The deal doesn't have to break there."

Neil blinked. "What?"

"The winter won't end for months. My brother has crops, but the winter withers them out. It's a season of starvation for nearly everyone. I hunt for him when I can."

"So there's nothing for me to do."

"I told you - even wolves have trouble in winter. You'd help when I can't."

"I-" Neil shook his head, like he was trying to rattle his thoughts straight. "They'd find me eventually. I can't stay."

"You can."

Neil sat up straighter, crossing his legs. "Your brother would be in danger. You would be in danger. I can't do that. No. _No_."

"You can, and you will."

"Why are you-" Neil looked away. He would choke on his words if he kept going so fast. He swallowed and blinked rapidly, hoping to dispel whatever it was crawling up his throat. 

Andrew, who was already close, shifted closer. His hand knotted into the red cloak, where it shifted from hood to cape near Neil's shoulder. Neil felt chills trickle up his spine, and he suppressed a shudder.

"Stop thinking," Andrew said, and leaned forward.

There was something about it. Not the speckled, moving wash of dark navy above or the slight breeze rustling the trees behind them. Not the view from the cliff, the everlasting nothingness that Neil felt more comforted by than fearful of, because here, a tiny dot in the dark, he could hide and feel at peace.

It was the touch of familiarity, the rough hand that moved from his cloak to his neck, thumb on his cheek, hard and holding him right in place where he needed to be. 

It was Andrew's lips, bruising, steadying. They opened after testing the initial press between them, letting Neil in, and they explored and pressed and, _god, Andrew's lips were as soft as they looked._

It was Neil losing himself in it. He wasn't the runner anymore, not the son of a murderer or the boy with the scars. He was the boy kissing Andrew, held tight by him, breaths mingling. 

And it felt _good_. With all the torment, the overwhelming loneliness, the loss of hope as he ran and ran and never stopped, it was something safe and pleasant and good.

And Neil held onto it with his life, desperate for it. 

Andrew let him go eventually, giving Neil the smallest of shoves against his shoulder. It wasn't much, but Neil separated himself, knowing Andrew needed his space.

The smile on Neil's mouth was impossible to get rid of. 

Andrew took one look at him and looked away again.

Neil's smile grew wider, but all he said was, "It's a deal."

Getting to Aaron's house wasn't as disappointing as Neil had thought it'd be now that he was planning to stay. What was a surprise, though, was how aggravating Aaron was.

The house was on the west side of the mountain, at the very bottom of the slope. The land around the house was clear, the treeline a good distance away. The grass around the residence was well kept, and there was a small garden in the front yard, covered now with a giant black tarp.

The house was made of wood and it was slightly disproportionate. It was short in some places and tall in others, indicating an attic or a single room on the second floor. The roofs were slanted, and there was a chimney on the right side, constantly puffing out smoke. The front door was giant and wooden, with a wooden door handle and a small keyhole beside it.

Inside was small. A living room, kitchen, bathroom and two small bedrooms. It was cozy. There was a table between the living room and kitchen, looking handcrafted like the chairs. Tall, thin windows brought in light, the dust floating when the sun came through the brightest. The couch had an assortment of knitted blankets across it, and two large rugs sat beneath the table and the sofa. In the back of the house, past the bedrooms and bathroom, there was a short stairway that led to the attic, which Neil found out had been turned into a third bedroom for guests. At least, Andrew said it was for guests, and Aaron said it was for Andrew.

“But there’s two bedrooms downstairs,” Neil had said. “Why do you need a third for guests?”

Apparently the twins had a cousin, Nicky, who stayed with Aaron nearly the whole year, but was out visiting someone across the continent. 

Andrew was the one who told Neil about Nicky. Andrew was also the one who showed him around the house, and told him he could stay in the attic. Andrew was the only one talking to him.

Besides a short few words, Aaron hadn’t said a single helpful thing to Neil since he’d gotten there.

Less than an hour since they’d arrived, Neil and Andrew were on the couch, just trying to soak in the warmth away from winter. Aaron was in a chair, glaring at the two of them, stubborn enough to try and break their merciless calm.

“So, what is this? A stray or something? Because I really don’t need more dogs under this roof.”

Neil raised an eyebrow, looking at Andrew. If Neil hadn’t already known about Andrew’s secret, Aaron could have just exposed it to a stranger. He clearly didn’t care, more annoyed than logical. Andrew didn’t look back at Neil, but Neil could see him rolling his eyes.

Aaron continued on. “It’s my house, and you can’t just come back here with creepy randoms from the forest.”

“It’s our house.”

“You’re never here, so it’s mine.”

“Don’t you remember? We bought this house using whatever funds left behind by Mother Dearest. It’s ours.”

“You -” Aaron stood up, looked between Neil and Andrew, and stalked away.

“Nice brother you got there,” Neil commented.

Andrew’s expression didn’t even twitch. “I could say the same for your father.”

“What, is it a competition now?”

“You wish it was because you’d win.”

Neil grinned. “Do you think Aaron would like me more if he came back in here and saw my lips on yours?”

When Andrew’s head turned, it was slow and deliberate. His face was carefully left blank. “Are you trying to break some record I don’t know about?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Person with the most people out there who want to kill him.”

“Do you think that’s a real record?” Neil asked, sitting up straighter with half-mock excitement. “If so, I have a great chance of winning.”

“Yeah, and I’m officially on the list.”

“Sure, you want to kill me,” Neil started. “But could you actually do it?”

“Give me a lemon and a knife and I’ll be done in seconds.”

“You have claws and teeth.”

“Lemon and a knife is more fun.”

“Color me intrigued.”

“Color your mouth shut,” Andrew said, and even though it made absolutely no sense, the pettiness of it startled a laugh out of Neil, and he couldn’t stop himself from moving forward with deliberate slowness and kissing the corner of Andrew’s mouth.

Later that night, Neil proved himself useful and went out with one of his own knives. He wanted to go alone, but with their deal, Andrew refused. He followed as a wolf, trotting along, and stood by as Neil saw a squirrel on a tree opposite of them and threw his knife with quick accuracy. The knife whistled through the air and made a loud thunk as it lodged into the bark.

They took it back, Aaron still holed up in his room as they took over the kitchen. Neil skinned it, its blood already drained from the kill, and Andrew pushed him out of the kitchen to cook it.

Not having an actual, cooked meal in months (besides the smallest of breaks at Bee’s) was making Neil’s mouth water, and he paced while he waited, the smell captivating. Neil set the table and Andrew served them. Without Aaron, it was peaceful. Neil devoured his portion, the prey having been made into a soup with a savory, delicious broth.

At night, Neil offered to sleep on the couch. Andrew just looked at him and pulled Neil up the stairs to the tiny attic made into a bedroom. At the front of the room was a window letting in the moonlight, which Andrew went to and closed, only leaving a crack for the light. There was a gigantic bed, again carved from wood, its four legs thick and short. The comforters were abundant and warm. There was a dresser on one wall, looking dusty, and that was it. No bathroom besides the one downstairs.

Neil laid face down on the mattress, groaning with the exhilaration of food, warmth, and a semi-permanent bed.

“I’ll take a shower in the morning,” Neil mumbled. “If I get up now and somehow die, I’ll hate myself for never sleeping in this bed. I think these blankets are made of magic, Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t say anything as he shook off his boots and got into bed on the other side. He kept his distance, but he faced Neil, the middle emptiness seeming less empty when he got to stare at Andrew’s features. Time passed with both of them looking their fill. Eventually, there was a twitch between Andrew’s brows, and he turned over to face the other way. 

Neil fought back a smile and closed his eyes. 

When he woke up in the dark morning and found a large wolf curled up in the bed, the wolf’s back against his leg and hip, Neil rested his hand in the soft, inviting fur. The wolf exhaled quietly in its sleep. Neil closed his eyes again.

Despite Aaron’s open loathing, the first few days passed calmly. Aaron only bothered them when they took up too much space, whether in the living room, kitchen, or bathroom. He still barely said a word to Neil, but Neil heard him speaking one day as Andrew chopped a vegetable in the kitchen.

“I just don’t get it,” Aaron said. “Is he blackmailing you? Is he actually your friend? I’ve never seen you talk to anyone else besides me and Nicky. Do you genuinely like his company, or is he threatening you?”

Andrew kept chopping, not replying with a single word.

“I know he knows what you are,” Aaron continued. “He’s holding it against you somehow, isn’t he? Well, there’s no fucking way I’m letting him stay here.”

The chopping stopped and there was the sound of the knife being set back onto the counter. 

“I made him a deal. You will let him stay.”

There was a pause. Neil imagined Aaron’s shocked expression. Eventually, Aaron’s voice came out as a strangled hiss. “You made me a deal, too.”

“And have I broke it?”

“No, but…”

Andrew cut him off. “Then shut up.”

Later that night, after a fulfilling meal, Neil showered and got into bed, clothed and warm. Andrew came into the room shortly after, drying off his own hair with a towel. He looked at Neil, who was sitting up and watching Andrew expectedly.

“What deal did you make with your brother?” he asked.

Andrew kicked the door closed and threw the towel aside, not bothering to hang it up. “I told him I’d protect him from anyone trying to hurt him.”

“And so you killed his mother.”

Andrew only looked at him, so Neil kept talking. “But what about whenever you leave? Wouldn’t that leave him open and vulnerable?”

“Bee helps. There’s enchantments on and around the house. No one with ill intent can pass them.”

“Oh,” Neil said. Having Andrew always made him feel safe, but hearing this was another layer of unexpected protection. “I didn’t know that.”

“I made you a deal, too, didn’t I?”

Neil nodded. “And I trust it. And you.”

Andrew didn’t move from the spot where he was standing in front of the bed, so Neil got up onto his knees and crawled to the edge. They were at the same height, their eyes reflecting one another’s, and Andrew’s body was radiating powerful heat, making Neil’s muscles weak. He gravitated towards Andrew, every inch of his frame shaking him.

Neil lifted his arms to show Andrew where they were and where they were heading. He hesitantly touched Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew stared back at him, calculating, daring, observing him like a predator ready to strike.

“Can I?” Neil asked, and as Andrew spoke his confirmation, Neil slid his arms around Andrew’s shoulders and neck to his back, where his hands clasped together. He held Andrew close and buried his face in his neck, breathing him in until he felt intoxicated and energized and hungry for more.

After a few moments, Andrew pulled back, only to incase Neil’s mouth with his. Lips lingered against his, then went to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Andrew bit him there, and Neil smirked, starving for more.

He said, “My, what big teeth you have.”

By some miraculous indulgence, Andrew replied, “The better to eat you with,” and pulled him down into the bed.

Nicky came two days later, and he brought with him a chaos Neil didn’t expect.

He was tall, and the whole of his frame was encased by a long, elaborate, bright blue coat. He wore a scarf wrapped tight around his neck and his curly dark hair was hidden beneath a winter cap.

After greeting his cousins and being introduced to their guest, he threw his arms around Neil and tugged him close. “Welcome to our home, Neil. Sorry that you’ve had to spend all this time alone with these two boring assholes. If you need someone to keep you company, you just holler, okay?”

He doted on Neil all day, asking him questions about his family, his likes and dislikes, and how he’d met Andrew. He got very little out of Neil, who mostly gave one-worded responses. As late afternoon rolled around, he showed them some things he’d gotten while visiting his friend (boyfriend, Nicky later corrected). He had a sealed container of fish from the sea. Storing the rest, Nicky cooked one and prepared dinner for them, letting everyone rest as he did so.

They ate at the table. Neil recognized quickly that the brothers needed Nicky, not for any necessary reason, but because he brought them together in a way they couldn’t do on their own. He talked for them, not letting any long silences pass, as hard as it was with three other standoffish people. Neil answered some of his questions in length, giving him a glimmer of hope that this wouldn’t be a completely awkward conversation. 

The days turned into a settling routine. More than a week passed of warmth, food, a bed. Neil didn’t know what was better: having Andrew beside his side as he hunted out in the stark white cold; the flickering flame of the fireplace, bright in Andrew’s eyes, the two of them wrapped up in a large knitted blanket that had quickly become Neil’s favorite; waking up to Andrew beside him everyday, most of the time a wolf, but sometimes, when he was lucky, Andrew would be asleep as a human, his blonde hair soft, features peaceful, eyelashes long where they rested on his cheeks.

Panic was there, too, but it was muffled by Andrew’s presence. When Andrew saw him fidgeting, saw his gaze rest on the front door, he’d grab the hair at the back of Neil’s neck and look him in the eye.

“Stop,” Andrew would say, and his touch, his voice, his eyes staring into his were all enough.

Neil knew it wouldn’t last. It never would. He knew, and he still indulged in the dream. Andrew’s mouth was a distraction every night, pinning him to this illusion, but deep down Neil wasn’t able to rid himself of the looming promise of an attack, bound to happen.

And he told himself not to be naive, to be ready for it, but how could he possibly doubt Andrew and his promise? He trusted Andrew, and that meant he wasn’t as ready as he’d thought he’d be when it came.

It was morning, and Neil was up at some ungodly hour, just as the sun was beginning to peak above the horizon. Yellow danced on the floor where the attic curtain was kept slightly ajar. 

On the bed, Andrew was still asleep. He moved when Neil got up and dressed in his cloak and boots, but otherwise he stayed wrapped in the sheets. Today, he’d stayed human. He slept on his back, like he did most of the time, with his elbows bent and arms above him, hands slid under the pillow. His muscles flexed as he moved. He was breathing gently.

He hadn’t been outside on his own yet. There was no doubt that Andrew would be irritated with him when he found out Neil had tried going out alone, but there was no way in hell he was going to wake Andrew up and tell him. Not when he looked so at peace.

Neil would’ve stared longer if he didn’t feel like he was imposing, so he made his way down the stairs and out of the house. He had one of his knives in his boot, but he didn’t plan to hunt an animal this morning. His aim was to find a bird’s nest and unhatched eggs, hopefully a multitude of them for a hearty breakfast. 

His boots crunched in the thin veil of snow. There hadn’t been a heavy snow in days, but the nights still brought a light snowfall. 

First, just to be sure, Neil circled the perimeter of the house. Since Andrew had told him about Bee’s enchantments, Neil felt safe in the area, but the survivalist part of him had to be sure there were no nearby threats. When the grounds were clear, he separated himself from the house, going as far out as he knew the enchantments would allow him. There was a map hanging on the interior wall of the house, right near the front door, that outlined the furthest edges they could walk to without being unprotected.

Birds sang and chirped, and a few swooped past him. Flashes of black and white, red and yellow and blue. Cardinals, rosefinches, warblers. Most of the trees were thick with endless bush, plenty of places for hidden nests. Neil walked through the dirt paths with his neck cranked back, eyeing the branches, before he caught sight of a nest not too high from the ground. A low-slung branch gave him easy access, and Neil jumped to get his hands on it, pulling himself up atop it. Two more moves and he’d be close enough to get his hand in the nest.

From below him came a quick snap, a whistle, and the thunk of metal as an arrow lodged into the tree, a split hair from where his palm rest against the bark. Surprised, Neil yelped and yanked his hand away. Inside his chest, his heart burst. Panic had him straining back to look at his attacker, and his foot slide from its hold on the branch. He blindly reached for something, but the fall was inevitable. Neil’s back slammed into the ground, no layer of snow there to protect his body.

He couldn’t breathe. All his breath had been knocked from him, and he gasped, wondering if he’d just broken his back. Fortunately, the pain settled, but Neil was still inhaling harsh cold air and choking on gritty exhales. He blinked black spots out of his eyes.

People were looking down at him. They gave him no time to react. Large hands grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to his feet. He scrambled, his feet failing to plant themselves.

Just as he felt he could finally try and focus, a small fist knocked him in the side of the head. Neil grunted, screaming at himself to open his eyes.

No more hits came, and finally Neil could see in front of him.

It was Lola Malcolm, one of his father’s best people, and one of his worst. Her smile was smooth, cold, chilling. Grim. The man who’d pulled him up but was now behind him, pinning his arms back, was her brother, Romero. The largeness of his body crowding up behind him versus his sister’s excitement was a battle of attention for Neil’s fear.

“How?” Neil asked, bewildered.

“Aw, baby. You didn’t think you’re the only one who knows an enchantress? Magic forest, Nathaniel. Anything’s possible.” She came close and violently grabbed him by the chin, narrowing her gaze at him. “Your father requests a meeting. You’ll regret it if you trouble us.”

Neil kicked his feet, wiggling his body as wildly as he knew how, giving his full weight to the effort. Each struggle was useless against the arms holding him still.

Lola watched him before growing tiresome. She pulled a gun out of her waist, but she didn’t point it at him. Neil stared helplessly as he pointed it in the direction of the house, far away but still in sight.

“Jackson’s only a few feet from the door, Nathaniel. A whistle from me and he charges in. Maybe you’ve been hanging with wolves, but I wouldn’t bet on animals against guns.”

“I’ll slit Jackson’s fucking throat if he goes anywhere near that house,” Neil spit out. Behind him, Romero yanked on him so hard, he thought some bone must’ve broken. He repressed a shout in favor of glaring in the distance at the house.

“A threat won’t help you now. Either come with us quietly, or we kill everyone in that house by force and take you anyway.”

He thought of the four of them at dinner, Nicky’s optimistic attempts at getting everyone to talk, Aaron’s stony stare. He hadn’t known them long, but they were innocents. Aaron had let Neil stay despite his many complaints, and Nicky and welcomed him with open arms. They didn’t deserve anything happening to him.

He only allowed himself a short second to think about Andrew: his hand on the back of Neil’s neck, his apathetic yet calming stare, his form as a wolf as it pulsed against Neil with warmth. Their deal, Andrew’s vow to keep Neil safe, the way Andrew kissed him like he would lose Neil if he didn’t press harder.

Neil leveled his gaze with Lola’s. He said, “I’ll go,” and swallowed down all that had kept him happy in the last month, promising himself he’d die with these unsoiled memories.

Through will alone, Neil kept the name he’d given Andrew. Having it grounded him a little as he was dragged away. Wondering how they expected to get him to his father, a trek that would take them weeks, Neil voiced his concerns aloud. Lola laughed at him but said nothing. If they planned to take him all the way there by foot, Andrew would notice, and eventually come after them. Neil didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing.

He didn’t have to wonder anymore when the trees split and they came upon a dirt path. A two-seater truck greeted them. They shoved Neil into the truck’s bed. He thought being here, in the open trunk, might mean easy escape, but Lola climbed into the back with him with a knowing smile on her face, and his hope diminished. Romero and Jackson got into the front, and they were off.

Arms were bound behind him rather than in front, leaving a permanent ache in his shoulders. An inconsolable amount of time passed. She taunted him, minutes becoming hours, the truck jostling him in its rough track. Her words of promised torture faded out as the wind began to freeze his ears and cheeks. He tried to pull his hood over his head, but his tied hands made it impossible.

“It’ll still take us days to travel,” Neil said at some point. “I’ll die of hypothermia by then.”

“You think your father hasn’t been following you, too? He’s always been closer than you think.”

Chills ran up Neil’s spine. The sudden frost clouding over him wasn’t from the winter. 

The truck back-tracked east, past the mountain, around the lake, and far, far away from the only place he’d ever felt safe.

The trip, while not a full day long, must’ve been boring for Lola, because eventually her words translated into her knives. When she got too close, the pointed blade going for his face, Neil yanked his shoulder into her chin. The impact was nothing for her but an annoyance. She pushed him down onto his back, straddling his waist. Her eyes were fire, staring down at him, ablaze with crazed want.

She cut away the clothes on his chest, first the front of his sweater, then the long-sleeved black shirt beneath it. All that was left was the cloak beneath him, his own body protecting it from her knife.

Her hands were careless at times, focused at others, but each cut felt the same. Stinging pain, each overlapped in urgency by the next, different directions and different depths. Some were shallow while others went deep, and the blood began to mix around from the truck’s movement. He was consumed by it endlessly, unable to think of anything else as the sun left, and the stars above reached for him.

Half a day passed. The night blanketed his pain. Unconsciousness almost took over, and Neil nearly let it. He forced himself awake, telling himself it wouldn’t matter if momentary sleep helped wash some of the pain away. He needed to know where he was, and what was happening around him. 

When the truck stopped, Neil assumed it was to refill the gas. There was a hefty container of it in the truck bed. But Lola hopped down and unlatched the trunk door, grabbing Neil’s ankle with sinister intent.

“We’re here, Junior.” She pulled until he was on the edge of the latch, his legs dangling. “Excited as I am for your reunion with Senior?”

Neil didn’t think. He jumped down from the truck bed and made a run for it, shoving past Lola. Her hands reached for him but slipped. He made a wild, eager dash for the treeline. Large arms caught him around his torso, lifting him off his feet. Neil shouted, struggled, made panicked sounds as he gave Romero his dead weight. 

The fear was all-consuming now. Neil thought it’d be days before he had to see his father. He thought there’d be more time to prepare himself.

Jackson stepped forward and backhanded him. Stunned, Neil’s movements slowed. Like he weighed nothing, Romero dragged him along.

The area didn’t look familiar. It was nowhere near his father’s actual residence. The trees got more crowded as they stepped over roots coming out of the ground. An owl hooted. The moon was hidden past the canopy. Their path was lit only by a lantern, held up by Lola.

Only a few minutes passed before they came upon a very, very small shack. Shaped like a house, it was clearly only fit to be a single room cabin. Wooden steps led up to the porch and the door. The chimney on the tiny roof was puffing out smoke. The window beside the front door showed an orange light, like fire.

The smallness of the shack set Neil’s heart racing. There was no time to be paralyzed by his fear when they were forcing him up the steps. Jackson opened the door and looked at Neil expectedly.

Lola’s laugh was an evil sound. “Go on, or he’ll come out here and drag you in.”

Neil lifted his chin and stepped over the threshold.

It shouldn’t have surprised him so much to see his father, right there, the mass of muscle and cruel intent. His auburn hair was redder as it reflected the fire in the fireplace. His blue eyes stared Neil down, unflinching, challenging, happy. His hands rested lazily on his belt.

The small table near the fireplace had a tool belt, rolled out to display an array of knives, all different sizes. The fire crackled.

Nathan Wesninski’s body completely enveloped Neil’s smaller one. He was a shadowy monster, more outline than real. Half of Neil thought this was a dream. It certainly looked like it - especially when his father smiled, all teeth and canine, like a beast ready to destroy him.

“Hello, Junior,” his father said.

These would be his last moments alive. Neil grappled to say something, anything that would suffice as his last words.

When he couldn’t think of anything good enough to leave the world with, he gathered his saliva and spit in his father’s face.

With deliberate calm, Nathan wiped the spit from his face. He blinked down at Neil. Considered him for a long, eerie moment.

“Hold him down,” he said.

It took both of the Malcolm siblings to get his arms and legs to simmer down. He kicked and flailed and fought, the minor cuts on his chest becoming nothing at the reality of this nightmare.

His father stood above him. Jackson was near the fire, and he grabbed something Neil couldn’t see. _Anything but an axe_ , Neil thought. 

It wasn’t an axe, or any type of knife. Even through all the hurt, he could be thankful for that much. If they cut a limb, that lowered his chances of escape. As long as he had his legs, he had the tiniest speck of hope.

The stick Jackson handed Nathan was long and made of iron. The end of it was blood-red, glowing from the flames. A brand.

“If you move,” his father said, and his tone was so incredibly languid, lacking anything but the elation he got from slowly torturing his victims. “I will blind you.”

Neil knew the warning was more of a jubilant promise, so he tried his best not to move as his father brought down the brand. It was a strange shape, something he didn’t recognize. The brand reached from his jaw to his left cheek and temple. As it seared into his skin, sizzling, his skin hissing, he screamed, allowing himself that one outlet. 

What erupted inside him was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Not just pain, but body-disabling, bright agony, nausea that threatened to escape his throat, a pounding in his ears. And the fire in his face, alive, terrible, roaring.

Jackson took back the brand and held it over the fire. Neil couldn’t breathe.

Neil was shocked he wasn’t still screaming. A small part of him wanted his father to just end it.

Nathan spoke into the startling silence. “You’ve caused me more trouble than what you’re worth, but I can’t be too angry. Everyone knows I like a good chase - more satisfying when it ends.”

Jackson handed him the brand again. Neil wiggled his back against the wood in the floor. If he hadn’t been truly, absolutely petrified before, he was certainly well past it now. 

“I won’t deny I’ve got a bit of pent-up fury in me, though. To bite the hand that fed you… you’re a bit of an entitled brat.”

The next brand was aimed at his heart, and this one had the fiery suffering traveling throughout his own body, vibrant in his veins. He was sure he couldn’t breathe.

They didn’t give him time to recover. They hauled him up onto his knees, and he couldn’t hold back the sickness anymore. He heaved onto the floor, gagging on what little food was left in his system. None of them had the patience for it. The moment he was done, spittle still dropping from his lips, they took him to the middle of the room.

There was a round pillar in the center of the shack, reaching all the way into the crease where both slopes of the roof met. They wrapped his arms around it, his stomach flush against the wood, and re-tied his hands where they met at the other side. He put his unburned cheek flat against the pillar, which meant he couldn’t see what was happening behind him.

Cold, feminine fingers caressed his neck, then slid toward his shoulder. Lola took off his cut-up sweater and shirt, letting them fall to the floor. She found her way to the front of his neck, where his cloak was tied together. She untied it and it fell, too. The loss of it was like the final loss of protection, his shield gone, the only thing he had of his mother suddenly out of reach.

Tears pricked his eyes at the intense vulnerability, but he wouldn’t let them fall.

“I’ve been dabbling a bit in different techniques lately,” his father said from behind him. “I used a lot of what I knew on your mother. I thought about ways I could make it different for you. More interesting.”

Neil breathed in. Out. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

“A cleaver is still a nice way to end it. That hasn’t changed. When the journey there is over, I’ll use it to chop you up and feed you to any lurking predators. But I found a few things I wanted to try first. The brand was Lola’s idea. I’d say it worked out quite alright, right, Lola?”

Lola laughed her awful, cackling laugh. “He smells like rotten flesh. I’d say it’s a success.”

“Right that. And, yes, it was a brilliant thought, but I think I’ll like this one more. I like to use my muscles when I can.”

Neil didn’t know what it was, but his father’s excitement to get to it had Neil trembling. “Please,” he breathed out.

“What was that?” asked his father.

Neil closed his eyes. Swallowed and pushed his head into the pillar. To beg for his life made him feel the finality of it all, and part of him wanted to stay quiet, to keep his pride and yell out a sling of nasty curses. But he thought of Andrew, mad at him for risking his own life, and Neil’s own promise to try and play it smart. If there was a way for him to survive, this was all he could do. Neil tried to speak louder when he said once more, “Please.”

There was a long, thoughtful pause. Then the snap of a whip. “Maybe if you’d begged a month ago. But really, Nathaniel, I’m past my limit.”

The first whip was the easiest because the skin on his back was untouched. The shock of it startled him, and he grunted, hugging the pillar like it was the only thing keeping him together. The next one came fast, without warning, the slap echoing in the tiny cabin. Neil couldn’t concentrate on one point of pain. Once the long welts covered his back, the next ones laid atop of those created new, blinding sensations of stabbing aches. It all blurred together, one big piercing horror, and his body began to feel like a grave, drained of its energy, already dead. 

Without allowing himself to, he lost the battle with his tears. There was wetness on his face, causing his burns to pinch and scream, and all he could do was grit his teeth and take it, one hit at a time.

Minutes passed. His father began to whip him through intervals, as if doing it without any warning was part of the fun. Neil could barely keep the tension in his muscles. At some point, he passed out, only to be woken again by the sharp, blaring slap.

Somewhere in his own confusion, his father said something to one of the others, and the front door closed and opened as one of his lackeys left the shack. 

If Neil had counted right, between passing out and the muddled slowness of his thoughts, it was around thirty whips by the time his father stopped. He could hear Nathan hum behind him, contemplative. There was a sound of a tool being unsheathed, likely a small blade, still sharp enough to cut off a finger.

“Not nearly enough blood,” Nathan commented. “I think I’m ready to see an organ.”

There was no time to come to terms with death because there was a startled shout from outside the shack, a man’s voice, followed by a guttural, inhuman sound. Then again, an equally gruff cry as someone yelled. A beat of tense silence remained in the cabin.

“Lola,” his father said, and Lola grabbed a gun from her waist and went to investigate. The door slammed shut behind her.

Neil and his father waited, breathless. Nathan, from worry of the unknown, and Neil, trying not to lose himself, not caring what monster was coming to kill them now, as long as it was fast.

From outside, there was a loud, cracking boom of a gunshot. Overlapping it, Lola said something, cut-off by a violent series of grunts. It was so quiet inside the shack, that Neil could even hear her small cry and a choking sound, before silence followed.

Nathan Wesninski had no time to reach for a gun by the time the door burst open, and a low, menacing snarl caused Neil to shudder, the vicious threat of it radiating off the wooden walls around them. The fire popped and moved in the fireplace, like it was connected to the energy in the room, dangerous and alive.

Neil’s neck was yanked back from the pillar, the sharpened side of one of his father’s blades pushed up to his neck.

His father said, “Come closer and I’ll slit his throat.”

The snarl turned into a growl, feral, bone-wrenching, and it dawned on Neil’s confused brain, that this was not a random monster in a forest of creatures. His father was using Neil as a shield. The growl belonged to a wolf who was staying at a distance, waiting to make a move rather than attacking. The wolf was not here at random.

He knew now that it was Andrew. Everything inside him rumbled at the knowledge, ready to explode, the last of his fight roaring up through his bones. All he was capable of was opening his mouth onto his father’s wrist, right there as it held the knife to his throat, and biting down with every last drop of strength he had, getting through a hefty amount of skin. Blood immediately soaked into his mouth.

Nathan yelped, pulling his arm away. It was enough. The wolf jumped. Neil heard the thump of it landing atop his father, then visceral, loud, ripping sounds of teeth tearing away skin, bone, flesh. Blood splattered onto his legs and feet, onto the wood floor beside him. A long, stretched minute went by of the feast, the wolf’s teeth snapping as it pulled apart the man he’d once been so scared of.

His father hadn’t made a single sound.

By the time it was finished, Neil’s body had sagged against the pillar. He spit between himself and the pillar, trying to get out the iron taste of this tainted blood, but there was no room for it to go, so it just dripped down his chin.

He wanted to see his father die, but a greater need crowded him, the need to see Andrew, unharmed and here, not just pulled from some pain-induced dream.

Behind him, the wolf sniffed and made a strange pitching sound, not quite a whine or a whimper but close enough. It came up behind Neil’s shoulders, unintentionally bunched up, his back too exposed, too weak and shaking.

The wolf’s tongue lapped at his side, where Neil felt the blood had begun to dry all over him. It was careful to avoid the thick lacerations, licking between them where it could.

It pulled back and Neil heard the shift, the crunching of bone as it changed.

Deceptively calm, Andrew’s bare feet padded to where Neil’s hands were. He untied them, and Neil shook with relief. Trying not to move too fast, Neil pulled away from the pillar, his hands lacking the strength to even feel his own wrists, which were sore but would ultimately feel fine.

Andrew came back around the pillar, bent to his knees, looked at Neil and froze. This time, he couldn’t hold back the expression on his face, the soul-sucking anger, bringing his animalistic side to the surface. His eyes were not human, pupils dilated and a ring of gold around them. He was blinking furiously. His jaw was clenched and his hand was shaking as he lifted it to Neil’s unharmed cheek. 

Neil didn’t hesitate. He pushed his face into Andrew’s palm and closed his eyes. He wanted to put his arms around Andrew, but both of them were vibrating for different reasons, and he didn’t want to do anything to charge the situation.

Neil lost the battle with his consciousness, and though he wanted to open his eyes again and look his fill of Andrew, his muscles became boneless and he faded away.

The red cloak was wrapped around him when he woke again. Strangely, he wasn’t in his father’s shack, or any bed, but in arms that were jostling him as they walked on. Andrew must have found clothes at the shack, because he wore a jacket and pants, and boots on his feet that were crunching in the snow. 

Everything hurt. Yet, there was no reason to complain when Andrew had him. Neil tried to bring his arms up to wrap around Andrew’s neck, but the welts on his back stretched just a bit, and he almost bit his tongue trying to hold back a whimper.

Before Andrew could react, a new set of footsteps joined them. 

“Andrew,” said a woman’s voice, cool, wise, soothing. “I can help.”

Andrew’s grip on Neil tightened, then relaxed a second later. He was tense, but perhaps he realized that Bee was not someone he could afford to mistrust. 

“We’re too far from my house,” Bee said. “We have to go to yours.”

Andrew must have nodded, because her arm snaked over Neil’s body to grip Andrew’s arm, while her other hand rested on Neil’s knee. A breathless beat passed. Neil kept his eyes closed. The wind shifted, the air going from fresh and woodsy, to warm and cozy and still. 

Maybe he really was dead, because when Neil opened his eyes, they were no longer miles away and outside, but in Andrew’s house, in the living room, Neil held flush against Andrew’s chest.

The first loud outburst was Nicky’s. “What the fuck - !”

“Andrew, what…?” Aaron asked, and stood up rapidly from his chair at the table. The chair fell back. Aaron took a step forward, towards them.

Andrew took a step back and held Neil tighter. “Get the fuck away from us,” he growled, and Aaron had no choice but to listen to him.

Bee’s calm voice cut through the haze. “Lay him down somewhere.”

It was harder than it seemed, because when they tried to put him on the couch, the thin cuts on his chest and the brand above his heart spread heat throughout him, throbbing. Neil couldn’t hold back the low groans, but because it wasn’t the worst of the pain, he let them lay him down without any real complaints. 

Tired and without strength, one of his arms dangled off the couch, the back of his knuckles grazing the floor. Andrew’s hand found its way to his, holding it so tight the bones crushed together. It was a welcomed distraction. 

Thankfully, he could lay his unburnt cheek on the couch and still be faced toward Andrew. Andrew’s gaze was impenetrable, unmoving. Neil gazed at him through the sweaty strands of hair in front of his face. Andrew brushed back his hair, carding through it, pushing it back behind his ears.

The drops on his back were so startling, Neil cried out, the liquid dripping into him like acid. The ache of it passed quickly, but each one was a miniature bomb, like tiny brands in the slash marks. This time, he was the one squeezing Andrew’s hand.

“Bee,” Andrew warned, the one syllable a dark, harrowing word. Neil had his eyes closed tight, but his thumb moved to smooth over Andrew’s, a silent okay to continue.

“It’ll speed up the healing process,” she promised. “It’ll still take days, but without it, it’d take weeks. Maybe months.”

She kept going. Neil’s grip went slack as the pain knocked him out once more, and the living room finally quieted without his gasping breaths.

This time when he woke, he actually was in a bed. He was on his side as to not upset either side of his body, a challenging feat if he were on his own. But curled behind him was Andrew. They both had shirts on, preventing any skin-to-skin friction against his welts. Andrew’s arm was slung over his waist, keeping him upright on his side, but it was careful not to touch his chest, where the brand over his heart was. They laid so that the unburnt cheek laid on the pillow.

Neil sat up, untangling himself. He blinked, felt everything on his body with a consuming awareness, and subsequently remembered his father above him, taunting, mean, cruel, a demon with a crooked smile who’d been so excited seeing his own son in pain.

The hands Neil lifted to his face were quivering. He buried himself in his palms, breaths uneven, all of it off balance. 

Andrew found him like this when he sat up a minute later. He took away Neil’s hands, holding them in his own, and looked at Neil’s face. Whatever he saw there, his flat expression didn’t change. He looked at Neil head-on, taking all of it, willing to share that burden.

Neither of them said anything, they couldn’t yet, so Andrew leaned forward. Gently, gently put his lips to Neil’s eye, then the other. His jaw, his temple, his cheek. The untouched part of his burnt cheek, near his ear, where the brand hadn’t reached. He kissed his forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips, where Neil pushed back, grounded by it. Always grounded by it.

Andrew remained a wolf after that, for hours that turned to days.

Bee was the one to provide details once Neil was awake long enough to talk, and once he could actually digest the information.

“I’d already been on my way here when I caught Andrew’s scent somewhere close to me,” she explained. “I steered my direction toward him but he was running too fast as a wolf. By the time I caught up, he was walking back to the house, a human, with you in his arms.”

They were on the couch downstairs after Neil told Andrew’s disagreeing gaze that he needed to move around. Aaron and Nicky were out tending the garden, though Neil figured it was just to give them room. Andrew’s whole snout was in Neil’s lap. Neil’s hand was atop his head, stroking him.

“How did he know where I was?” he asked Bee, because he’d tried asking Andrew, and Andrew had only looked back at him in his wolf form, refusing to shift.

“I assume scent. Wolves noses travel for miles.”

Neil looked down at the wolf. “Do you think a wolf would have trouble sniffing out animals in winter?”

Bee’s eyebrows rose curiously. “No, I wouldn’t think so.”

“Huh,” Neil said. Andrew huffed, and Neil laughed, ignoring the painful stretch in his cheek as he did so.

Nicky cooked, Aaron stayed clear of them, and Bee left behind healing ointments, creams, and future remedies that she claimed would last them until her next visit. 

Before she left, she told Andrew, “You’ll need to apply the cream tomorrow, like I’ve been doing.” She eyed his nose and fur. “And you can’t do that when you’re like this.”

He used his snout to practically shove her out the door.

That night, while Neil was barely asleep, just on the cusp, he felt Andrew leave the bed. In the morning, he still wasn’t there.

Like he’d been doing, stubborn as hell, Neil scrubbed at unhurt parts of his body with a sponge and soap, then dried off and got dressed. He had breakfast at the table with Nicky, and ignored Nicky’s pointed stare, his gaze that kept flickering to Andrew’s empty seat (which had been unoccupied the last few days, anyway, due to Andrew’s pick of his wolf state).

He dug for firewood outside and brushed out dirt and grime on the porch, leaving it there to eventually be used in the fireplace. He had a lengthy argument with Nicky, who saw Neil going out of the house with a knife, ready to hunt, and consequently pushed him back into the house, scolding him.

"My back feels fine," Neil told him, frowning, but Nicky's incessant disapproval got annoying enough for Neil to go back in the house.

Feeling stuffy and confined, Neil tried to take a nap and failed. Instead, he passed the time stretching in the front yard, cringing as he pulled on every healing wound.

At dinner, Aaron bared his teeth at Neil. Apparently, getting branded and flogged only had the power to make Aaron sympathetic for a day. He’d gone back to ignoring Neil, not interested in being around Andrew and Neil when they were together. At the table, their curious stares on Andrew’s empty seat grew.

Aaron said, “If Andrew doesn’t come back, once you heal, you have to leave.”

The roll of Neil’s eyes couldn’t be suppressed. “He’ll be back today.”

Nicky sat up straighter as he chewed his food. “How do you know?”

“He has to apply the cream Bee gave me to my cuts.”

There was a long, disbelieving pause. Aaron laughed, more mean than humorous, and Nicky choked a little on whatever he was eating. Once he swallowed the food and washed it down with water, Nicky gave him an openly pitiful look.

“Look, Neil, I know it’s painful. You guys seem close. But you’re not used to Andrew - he’s a drifter, has been since I’ve known him.” He dramatically lowered his voice as he continued. “Andrew’s a lone wolf.”

“I’m not worried,” Neil said.

Even though he said that, it was nearing midnight. Neil was in the bed in the attic, the cream in his hands. It was in a glass jar and it smelt of strong camphor and mint. The cream was thick and felt cool when pressed to his open wounds. He didn’t know how they looked, or how much they’d healed in a few days time with the help of Bee’s remedies, and Neil knew they were still ugly and wretched, bumpy and throbbing, but they were without a doubt starting to pull less. He only woke up from the pain sometimes, now.

Andrew opened the door of the attic and found Neil like that, looking down at the heavy jar. Neil glanced up and observed every unusual bit of Andrew’s arrival: messier hair than usual, dirty clothes (but clean hands), barefoot. Flat stare.

But human, and here, which was the only thing that mattered.

As Andrew came up to him, eyeing the glass with its whitish-green cream inside, Neil lifted an arm to offer it. There wasn’t a pause as Andrew took it from his hand and got up on the bed, mattress shifting, to go and sit comfortably being Neil’s back.

It was relieving on his back, and his shoulders relaxed as Andrew’s fingers smoothed thin layers atop his many welts. The process was long, the amount of cuts too abundant, and Andrew finished minutes later, the two of them silent as he did so.

Andrew pulled on his shoulder and Neil got the hint, turning around on the bed so he was facing Andrew again. Andrew grabbed him by the undercut of his jaw, turning his head to examine how well his brand was healing. By the hard set of his eyes, Neil doubted it looked too good.

“How does it look?” Neil asked.

Andrew scooped up some of the cream and, as light as he could, to where Neil could barely feel it, he applied it to Neil’s cheek.

“You haven’t seen it?” When Neil shook his head, Andrew continued. “It’ll heal.”

Neil took that answer without question, though he was curious about something else. Hearing Andrew talk after days, he figured Andrew’s long-suffering silence was over now.

“Where were you?”

The gold in Andrew’s eyes flashed. “Your father had a lot of people working for him. I thought there might be men lingering around.”

“And you found some?”

“Four.”

“They’re dead?”

Andrew looked at him intently, like the answer was obvious.

Even with his father dead, Andrew took his deal as seriously as ever. Neil knew his father had a large assortment of people who worked beneath him, and connections that ran outside the forest. When they found out about Nathan Wesninski’s death, they’d surely come looking for Neil. Maybe Andrew knew that. Or maybe he’d just been cutting off any possible threat, letting no man beg for their life. It was better to end looming danger before it even began. Nevertheless, it was toeing the line of their deal - Andrew had promised to kill his father, and that didn’t include every person who’d ever worked for him.

“Andrew,” he said. Andrew didn’t look away from the burn mark as he finished covering it with cream. He reapplied some to his fingers and began spreading it across the second brand, the one over his heart. “I want to break our deal.”

For awhile, Neil wasn’t sure Andrew would answer him. He kept covering the brand, intent on the wound itself, like Neil hadn’t even spoken. As he finished, he got up and wiped his fingers on one of their towels hanging on a hook.

Finally, Andrew looked at him. “No.”

Predictable - Neil had been expecting it. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. I’m breaking our deal.”

“Why?”

“Well, to start, it’s technically over, isn’t it? You promised to kill the person who was trying to kill me, and you succeeded.”

“Multiple people have tried, and are trying, to kill you.”

“It doesn’t matter. The deal was my father, and you know it.” Neil stared him down, refusing to back down. “And secondly, my side of the deal is complete bullshit, or at least nowhere up to par, and I’m not going to continue this unbalanced exchange of favors.”

Andrew’s mouth twitched. “Then change the conditions.”

“No.”

“What’s the problem here, Neil?”

Neil slid along the bed until he was at the edge, feet over the side and touching the floor. “I want to stay with you.”

“What?”

“Here, in this house, or if you leave again, to travel as a wolf. Wherever you go, I want to stay.”

“More reason not to change our deal.”

Neil shook his head vigorously. “You’ll always be on guard, always be thinking about someone other than yourself, and I’ll always feel weak and pathetic, like I’m still fighting the past. But it’s over, Andrew. Sure, they might still be around, and one might be stupid enough to try something, but I’ll take care of it when the time comes.”

If Neil looked close, he could see Andrew’s hands shaking. As if he felt them, Andrew closed his hands into tight fights. “You’ll take care of it? Like you took care of your father’s men, who took you right from our home, where I blatantly said you’d be safe?” Neil flinched, and began to shake his head, but Andrew bulldozed over him. “I was meant to take care of it before they got to you.”

“Andrew, it’s fine -”

“It’s not fucking fine, Neil. Don’t you tell me it’s fine, when I -” Andrew seemed to realize how heated he was getting, and he exhaled long and deep, loosening his fists. He blinked, flickering his gaze to the wall, away from Neil. 

Without his permission, Neil’s hand lifted and outstretched, reaching for Andrew’s. Realizing what he was doing, his hand froze mid-air. Andrew turned his head to stare at it. Annoyed at himself, Neil pulled his hand back and tucked it beneath his thigh on the bed.

It was Andrew who spoke first, his gaze still on the spot where Neil’s hand had just been. “If Bee hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t be walking. Do you think it’s fine? That you were in that state?”

“No,” Neil answered. “It’s fine because I have been terrified my entire life. I have never been able to feel safe, or at peace, or like I could belong somewhere. All I’ve ever wanted to do was run, and keep running. And now, the man who’s tormented me my whole life, is dead, at your hands because you promised me and you came through on that promise. That man will never touch me again. So, yes, I was taken from you and was so sure I would die, and yes, it hurt and it still hurts, and maybe I’ll never be able to forget what he did to me, but he’s gone and you’re here, and I won’t have you be a shield with no sense of self-preservation.”

That expression settled on Andrew’s face again, the one Neil was beginning to recognize so well. It was Andrew’s flat stare and emotionless mouth, an attempt at apathy, ruined by the tell-tale details Neil had learned to notice: the hard clench of his jaw and the averted gaze. 

It seemed forever before Andrew could gather his thoughts. “Whether you break the deal with me or not, I won’t change.” Neil heard the underbelly of the statement: I won’t let you get hurt.

“I know,” Neil said. He didn’t expect anything less. Tilting his head, Neil eyed him, looking him up and down when a thought occurred to him. “Hey.” Andrew ignored him, so Neil lifted his foot and nudged him in the shin. “Look at me.” Slowly, his head finally turned back. “I never said thank you, did I?”

“Are you purposefully trying to be as obnoxious as possible?”

Neil held back a laugh. “I mean it. I know you don’t need it, but still.” This time, Neil lifted his hand and outstretched it with purpose. He held it up, letting Andrew decide, and when Andrew slipped his hand into his and grasped it, he felt his chest swell.

Taking a step closer until he was directly in front of Neil’s legs, Andrew’s free hand found its way into Neil’s hair. He pulled Neil’s head back, forcing his head up, and Andrew once again took in the sight of the burn before meeting Neil’s own eyes.

“If you’re in pain,” Andrew said, “you tell me. You don’t say you’re fine.”

“Okay.”

“Tell me yes or no.”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Maybe it was Andrew’s hand that cradled his jaw, like he’d break if he held him any tighter, completely at odds with the rough, nearly desperate crush of his lips, or the sound that fell from Andrew’s mouth, an unguarded sigh ringing like relief if Neil thought too long about it. It could have been the way Andrew refused to lay him on his back, mindful of the aches Neil bore.

Whatever it was, Neil’s heart beat thunderously against his skin, and he found himself hoping, for the first time in years, that tomorrow would come.

Through the parted curtain, the pale morning sun stretched over the bed and coated Andrew’s blonde hair in streaks of gold. 

Stifling a yawn, Neil got dressed, went downstairs, and put on his boots.

Beside the front door, hung over a hook in the wall, was his cloak. It was heavy, a perfect companion for winter, and it stood out with its glaring red against the colorless wall. They’d managed to get the blood stains out, so that now the intense crimson was ablaze.

Neil slipped it on and left, leaving the door cracked behind him. 

It hadn’t snowed in weeks. The ground had begun to respawn, specks of green appearing through wet dirt. Every now and then, Neil spotted leaves on otherwise lifeless trees. Winter would be over soon, if they were lucky. Neil was excited - his favorite season had always been spring.

Only a few steps from the house, the front door creaked open behind him. A snout pushed into his leg and Neil laughed, startled, reaching out to stroke thick, brown fur.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said, thumbing Andrew’s ears.

Andrew huffed at him and nibbled on his hand. 

They did this some mornings - ran together, Neil’s nose turning red in the cold, Andrew’s paws thumping loudly beside him. His cloak would flap wildly behind him, the hood never staying on, but Neil still refused to go out without it. Neil didn’t believe in luck, but the cloak had been with him through it all and had somehow survived. So, yeah, lucky.

They ran, and Neil got to experience what it felt like to run for the hell of it, for nothing but to run. No one chasing him, no panic crawling up his spin, no reason to look behind him. The forest welcomed him, Andrew grounded him, and he ran, freedom reflected in the open world around them.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i have a lot to say about this fic so if you ever have any questions (or concerns, or requests for future fics), i'm on tumblr @[anddreil](https://anddreil.tumblr.com/)


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